


Pinocchio's Demise

by Strawberrywaltz



Series: Your Lie [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Needs a Hug, Evil-ness, Gen, Human Experimentation, Memory Loss, Natasha Needs a Hug, New shinny ability, Team, Tony Needs a Hug, Vulnerable Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberrywaltz/pseuds/Strawberrywaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Your Lie. Natasha and Tony team up to rescue Clint from a new enemy - and himself. Hints of Clintasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

It felt like his mind was covered in heavy layers of blankets. Every time Clint thought he might finally breach the surface of the pile, another thick sheet of wool like fog washed over him to keep him buried.

Clint would rise and fall with the ocean of drugs being pumped into his veins. Just before he would be pulled back down into the dark abyss, Clint would sense something off, gathering snippets of information about the mysterious world around him. Things were adding up, but Clint was never able to hold on long enough to let the fragments of panic to do anything productive.

For example – escaping his current hell.

All together the information Clint had gathered was listed as following: He was tied down onto a bed with padded cuffs encircling his wrists and ankles. An IV was securely fastened to the back of his left hand – pumping all sorts of fun drugs into him to keep him heavily sedated. After a painful attempt to open his eyes the archer had learned the room was bright and white – which brought him to one conclusion.

He was in a hospital.

Not one of SHIELD's.

It didn't smell like SHIELD. It didn't feel safe. Clint knew that someone from his team would be there with him if he were somewhere safe. They would be watching over him and making sure the doctors tie him down. It was a well-known fact that Clint hated to be tied down. No, not just hate, he loathed it.

Vaguely Clint was aware he had been screaming. His throat was raw from over use and the strangled sounds he had been making hung in his mind as he tried once again to open his eyes only to fail miserably with a pathetic groan.

"He's reacting badly to the treatment, Dr. Randle." A female voice said through the grey haze. Whoever she was Clint noted that she didn't sound overly concerned for whoever's health she was talking about – she was simply stating a fact.

"We are nearly there – the bastard will not die now." A somewhat familiar male voice responded. Clint didn't like the voice – it didn't belong to a friend. "I won't give him the mercy."

Fire. It shot through his mind like a bullet – shattering his skull with webs of lava filling in the cracks left in the wake of the impact.

Clint was sure he was screaming again, but the darkness drowned him out and replaced the air in his lungs.

When it was over Clint floated away in the current, the pain and darkness swirling together until he knew nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony returned to the tower after his meeting with Clint feeling lighter than he had since before the initial heart crushing betrayal. The billionaire was well aware that they still had a shit load of emotions to work through, but there was a sense of hope that hadn't been there before. Clint was coming home – for the moment that was all that mattered.

The billionaire's excitement died the moment he entered his pent house apartment at home in his tower. The huge, open floor he had shared with Pepper for so long echoed his footsteps back to him as he moved across the floor. It looked like his heart felt – empty. All his life he had avoided love only for Pepper to break down his external and internal walls and worm her way into his heart. She took her fill before moving on – to Tony's best friend.

It was a heart breaking and cliché betrayal. "It's always the best friend." Tony muttered to himself as he loosened his tie and pulled off his suit jacket. "But I still have you, Jarvis, am I right?"

"Of course, sir." The disembodied voice of Tony's faithful AI responded as cheerfully as his programing could muster – it was clear Jarvis was as upset as his creator that Pepper had betrayed them.

Single handedly Pepper had nearly destroyed three relationships with one faithless kiss. Poor Barton hadn't seen it coming – neither had Tony. In anger Tony sent them both away even though it was Clint who had finally come clean and it was Pepper who had wanted to hold onto the lie.

It had taken a while but finally, with the not so subtle help of his team, Tony had realized his mistake and decided to bring Clint home. The archer, in his despair of losing the only loving family he had managed to keep for an extended amount of time, had accepted and gone on a mission – a dangerous one.

Barton was hired under an alias created by SHIELD to gather intelligence on a medical research facility that may or may not be responsible for the disappearances of several unlucky employees.

Well, at least now Barton would no longer be in danger. Clint had promised he'd come home once he'd wrapped things up and paved the way for his replacement – for now that knowledge would be enough. Even without Pepper's love, Tony would still have his friendship with Clint and the continuing support of his makeshift family of misfit toys.

Tony had hope that life would somehow go back to normal – eventually.

"Mr. Barton?" A voice echoed in his ears, steering him steadily towards consciousness. "Mr. Barton?" The voice persisted a few more times before the man felt close enough to the surface to move his arm in an uncoordinated fashion. He wouldn't be breaking out that way, Barton thought numbly as he struggled to wake up.

"Mm," Barton moaned, eyes fluttering open to look into a strangers face. Barton, that name sounded so familiar – or maybe not. At the moment everything felt distant and surreal. It was like his mind was floating in empty darkness. Barton's eyes flickered away from the bright florescent lights above him and rolled around the room before they stopped once again at the unfamiliar face.

The man looked down at him with what appeared to be mild curiosity and another emotion 'Barton' couldn't quite place.

"It's good to see you awake, Mr. Barton." The man announced with something like a smile appearing on his face. "You had us very concerned."

"Concerned?" Barton parroted dumbly, eyes searching the room again. "Why?"

"You were in an accident, Mr. Barton." The man sad somewhat bluntly – Barton wondered vaguely if the man failed the art of bedside chatter during his residency.

Confused, Barton looked up at the man. Nothing was familiar. Nothing felt right. He couldn't remember – anything. Panic seized the man on the bed so fast the Doctor barely had time to jump back and press the call button for assistance.

Orderlies appeared and voices erupted around Barton as he struggled against the hands to get off the bed and away – nothing made sense. All Barton knew was that nothing was familiar, which left everyone open as an enemy.

"Don't drug him," A female voice sounded louder above the rest. "I want to talk with him if we can get him to calm down." Barton zeroed in on the voice's owner – a woman with dark flowing hair and silver tinted eyes behind square hipster eyeglasses. She was young and approached the bed without any signs of apprehension when Barton finally gave up the struggle.

"My name is Dr. Sandra Reese, I'm a psychiatrist that works for Sound Research." She introduced herself in a calm voice. The orderlies had secured Barton's wrists and ankles in padded cuffs now, making him whimper slightly as he weakly tried to tug himself free.

"Don't mind those for now," Reese said gently, "We are only concerned for your well being."

"I don't – " Barton hesitated with glance around the room at the unfamiliar faces and felt crowded. It was dangerous, too dangerous. He was tied down and had no way to defend himself if they meant him harm.

The shrink seemed to understand or read his emotions and snapped her fingers to gather the group's attention back to her. "Out of the room, people, he needs some room to breathe." Slowly the small mass of people trickled from the room. The male Doctor gave a sharp glare to those who lingered behind to urge them out of the room faster.

Now it was only the nameless Doctor, Reese and Barton in the room.

"Is that better?" Reese asked kindly, giving Barton room to process his less cluttered surroundings.

"Yes." Barton agreed – it was better if he over looked the fact that he was still tied down. He really didn't want to be tied down. "Please?" He added pathetically, pulling at his restraints to convey the rest of the question non-verbally.

"Soon," Reese assured him. "We just need to make sure you aren't a risk to anyone – including yourself." The dark haired woman smiled kindly. "Indulge me in answering a few easy questions, alright?"

"I'll try." Barton offered, feeling very unsure of the whole situation.

"Okay, we'll start really easy, alright? What year is it?"

Barton reached into his mind for an answer, only to come up with nothing. His breathing picked up as he struggled to find something – anything. "I don't – " He shook his head in frustration, pain lacing through his head suddenly.

"Calm down, it's okay." The soothing voice of the female psychiatrist broke through the growing panic. Barton's breathing slowed as he looked at her weakly. "It's okay if you don't know." She told him with knowing eyes. "Last question and then I'll start trying to answer some of yours." She promised. "Is there anything at all you can remember about yourself?"

Barton tried again, but gave up fast if only to avoid the pain. "No, nothing. It's all blank." He told her in despair. He shook his head in frustration and let out a sigh before glancing back at them. "I assume my name is Barton." He added with a roll of his eyes.

That brought a smile to the psychiatrist's lips. "Well, at least you haven't lost your sense of humor." She pointed out lightly before clearing her throat. "I regret to inform you that you've been involved in a terrible accident."

Barton paled at that, wondering if his face was burned unrecognizably or if – well nothing felt missing. Well that wasn't quite true, he did lose his memory.

"No, sorry, not that kind of accident." Reese corrected herself. Barton was getting the impression that she was new at her job. "There was a chemical explosion at the research facility where you worked security. You were exposed to some rather rare and dangerous chemicals. We've been monitoring you in isolation for the passed week and you've just been cleared to be around people again."

"Why don't I remember?" Barton asked fearfully eyes focusing on the doctor. "Will I get it back?" Right now he honestly didn't care about what happened to him, but the idea of never knowing who he was scared the shit out of him.

"You suffered a head trauma in the explosion," The male doctor told him easily, breaking his vow of silent brooding in the corner of the room. "We were concerned that you may have suffered some sort of brain injury. Mr. Barton, you are lucky to even be alive and able to move and talk normally. You're memories may be gone, but you are alive. That is something worth celebrating."

Barton stared back at the man with wide-eyed fear. "So, you're saying – ?"

Reese looked like she wanted to hit the doctor, but reframed with visible difficulty. "He's saying there is a possibility you may not remember your past. Brain injuries are tricky and very difficult to predict. You could remember everything in a few hours, a few years, or never."

Silence filled the room as Barton considered her words as well as the doctor's. He was alive, which was saying something. Still – he wanted his memories back. He needed to know who he was – who these people were.

"So, what happens now?" Barton asked after an uncomfortable silence eyes locked on the restraints holding down his left wrist.

Reese held up her hand to keep the unnamed doctor from speaking again. "Now we take care of you and make sure there aren't any lingering complications to your exposure. For now you'll have to stay in this facility along with the others exposed in the explosion. If you experience anything odd or worrisome please tell one of us or any member of the staff. We're here to help you in any way we can."

Slowly Barton nodded, unable to think of anything he could really object to. They were going through a lot of trouble to keep him alive. "Do I have any family?" He asked suddenly, wondering if anyone was looking for him – If anyone could tell him who he was or anything about his forgotten past.

"According to your file, I'm afraid not. You were married but I'm you're wife died last year. Both of your parents are gone as well." Although she was trying desperately to be delicate and break the news gently to him – Reese's words ripped at Barton's soul.

He had no one. He just learned he had a wife who was dead and no family. No one was looking for him. He had no one to remember and apparently no one to remember him.

His heart fell.

"I'm very sorry," Reese offered respectfully. "I'll have someone come and remove the cuffs if you think you're ready." It seemed to be some sort of peace offering. Or maybe more of 'your life seriously sucks, here's something to hold onto' kind of deal.

Barton simply nodded, the fight long gone out of him. What was there to fight for?

"Once you're settled and Dr. Randle finishes his examination we'll leave you alone for a bit. You've had a lot to process in a very sort amount of time. It's understandable to be upset." Reese told him, patting his shoulder in a comforting way before she stepped back. The examination was long and consisted of a dozen or more 'yes' or 'no' questions.

An orderly came in and undid the cuffs at the end of what Barton considered to be pure hell, which was a nice consolation prize. He hated being tied down – that was one thing he knew about himself.

Before Reese could leave Barton stopped her. "Wait." He hated the way his voice pleaded so openly.

She turned back and smiled reassuringly, waiting for him to continue.

"I – I don't even know my name." He told her weakly.

Recognition dawned over the girl's face and she nodded sympathetically. "You are Clint Barton, a security officer at Sound Medical Research Facility, or SMRF. You've been working there for two weeks surveying the outer perimeter. I can gather what I can and put it in a file for you if you'd like?"

Clint. Barton thought oddly. It felt right.

Slowly Clint nodded. "That would be good, thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

When Clint was finally given the file Sound Research had on him, he couldn't bring himself to open it. Initially he was terrified of never remembering who he was – now he was afraid of what he might learn.

What kind of person had he been? What if he didn't like what he read? What if it wasn't enough? He already learned that he had and lost a wife, what other tragedies were waiting for him?

He paced for a few minutes around his room before perching on the side of his mattress – staring down at the closed folder in his hands.

"It won't bite you." Reese offered, still standing in the doorway. They were alone now – Dr. Randle was no longer needed. Clint was pretty sure he didn't like the man. The stranger had an edge about him and looked at Clint more like a lab rat than a patient. Whatever the reason that made Clint dislike the man – the doctor was gone for the moment, which was acceptable.

"Are you sure about that?" Clint asked carefully, eyes rising to look at her but just as quickly his gaze fell back onto the closed file. "It's not very thick." He commented – all they knew about him was in his hands, unless by some miracle he started to remember his past on his own. Judging by the way Reese was looking at him, that wasn't likely going to happen. The sympathy was tangible.

Clint missed the soft smile Reese gave him as she moved cautiously closer to the bed where he was sitting. "Unfortunately you hadn't been working for us for very long." She informed him.

"It appears that I have some serious bad luck." He commented dryly, his finger played with the corner of the folder as he searched for the strength inside him to open it.

"Maybe." Reese agreed lightly, sitting down beside him. "Maybe not. Maybe this is a chance to start over? There is a possibility that you'll never recover who you were, but you have the power to be whoever you want to be from now on."

Clint was quiet after she spoke her little speech. Maybe she was right – but he still wanted to remember. Who he was, it was important – right? There had to be someone missing him – someone overlooked who cared.

Taking in a deep breath Clint opened the file and peered down at the papers revealed and read silently.

Inside he found his resume, a recommendation letter from his commanding officer, birth certificate, medical records, wedding certificate and his wife's death certificate. His eyes misted as he looked at her name – there was no picture. Natasha. It sounded familiar – but distant. Hidden behind a dark veil in his mind.

With a sad sigh he read over what he'd been given only to want more – so much more.

Some things were starting to make a semblance of sense. When he had first woken up and how he reacted to so many unfamiliar people trying to hold him down. He had been a soldier – that was why he viewed them all as the 'enemy.'

"Could I talk with my commanding officer? Or maybe someone from my unit?" Clint asked suddenly, hopeful eyes staring back at Reese.

She hesitated before she shook her head. "The man who wrote the letter died shortly after and the men from your unit are scattered all over the world on Black Ops missions. I'm afraid we couldn't get ahold of anyone, not now anyway."

Clint felt the pain of loss once again – it was nothing compared to the pain that shot through his head as she spoke. Clint was relieved when the pain faded away again. "Dead?" He whispered. Everyone who knew him was either dead or gone – it felt a little convenient, but who was he to argue? Besides, Reese seemed sincere enough.

"This is everything?" He asked, emotion leaking into his voice as he spoke. Clint couldn't bring himself to look at the woman next to him.

"I'm afraid so." She answered with what sounded like honesty. The pain that spread through Clint's head returned with a vengeance – shooting through his brain front to back. It surprised him enough that he reached for his forehead – but before he could touch his fingers against his temple the pain was gone.

"Are you alright?" Reese asked, eyes narrowing with concern.

"No," Clint admitted weakly. "But I'll figure something out."

Reese smiled, her hand patting his arm comfortingly. "You don't have to face anything alone. For now we have to keep you here for health reasons, but Dr. Randle and I are here for you. As friends if you'll have us."

"Friends?" Clint echoed tiredly. At this point he probably could use a couple of friends.

"Of course," Reese smiled, standing. "I have a few meetings set up for this afternoon, but if ever you need anything my office is right down the hall. "There's a cafeteria down the hall as well, just follow the signs."

"I'm free to walk around?" Clint asked curiously – for some reason this place felt like a prison. Weakly he wondered if he'd been in one before. Nothing in his file said that he was a criminal – or for that matter a POW.

"Of course," Reese assured him kindly. "There's nothing here we're trying to hide from you."

The pain came back as she spoke the words, but ended as soon as she stopped talking. He winced, hand trembling slightly for a moment – muscles tense. It was an odd sensation, but before he could mention it Reese was walking out the door.

Clint immediately brushed off the pain as something to do with his head injury and aimed his focus back onto the file in his hand. So far his life sounded like a bad tragedy – Clint just hoped that something would change that.

Lounging around in his room got boring fast. Clint found himself curious about the world outside. Reese had told him where he was allowed to wonder, but he was under the impression that he couldn't exactly leave. This assumption was proven when he found all the major exits locked with rather complex looking security pads. Codes and palm scanners kept him from complete freedom.

His eyes went from the hopeless security system to the vents for some odd reason, but Clint shrugged it off and headed down the hall to where the signs said the cafeteria was located.

It was tiny, more like a café. One person stood behind the counter and it appeared as if they only had pre-made meals and sandwiches, candy bars, chips and soda. There was a coffee machine in the corner and Clint immediately went to pour himself a cup.

"Sorry son." The man behind the counter called from behind him. Clint turned to look at the stranger. He was older, but not elderly with a crooked smile on his face. "With the drugs they've got you on you aren't allowed any caffeine."

"Drugs?" Clint narrowed his eyes. He hadn't been given any drugs – at least not while he had been awake.

"Ah, I guess Dr. Randle hasn't spoken with you yet." The man nodded knowingly. "Well, they've been given you the drugs through an IV while you were unconscious." He shrugged. "I can make you some tea though, do you like tea?"

Clint tried to think if he did, but he had no idea. "I'll give it a try." Apart from the two men there was no one else in the cafeteria. "Um, I'm Clint – Barton." He introduced himself, stumbling over his own name pathetically. The introduction was probably pointless – the man obviously had known who he was.

"Roger Mason." The man offered back as he started to fix the tea.

Clint watched with silent interest as the man poured out the hot water and slipped a tea bag into the paper cup.

"Let the tea bag soak in there for a few minutes so it doesn't taste like slightly favored water." Roger informed him lightly. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Clint considered the question and nodded. He was given a sandwich and after a short debate brought it back to his room to eat. Roger was friendly and seemed nice, but Clint wanted to be alone suddenly. As he sat staring at his food in his room Clint wondered if amnesiacs tended to be anti-social at first or if it was just part of his personality that he'd forgotten.

It wasn't long until Dr. Randle appeared again. Immediately Clint's shoulder muscles tensed as he watched the man enter the room.

"Mr. Barton, I'm only here to give you your medicine and then I'll be out of your hair." The man offered what looked like a forced smile, but it was gone quickly. Clint smirked maybe he and Dr. Randle weren't so different after all. They both seemed to dislike being around people. Or in the very least, they both didn't want to be around each other.

"What medicine?" Clint asked skeptically. He was aware from Roger's heads up that he'd have to take something – but that didn't mean he'd take it without question. Vaguely Clint wondered if he had always been this paranoid or if it was simply a side effect of his amnesia. Something told him that he didn't do things blindly.

"The chemicals you were exposed to, as we've told you, were very dangerous. As a precaution we are giving you doses of a counter-agent to level out your system."

Clint winced as pain shot through his head again, lasting as long as Randle's wordy sentence. "Level out my – "

"Trust me, it's for your benefit." Dr. Randle's words brought the pain slicing through Clint's head again and he winced, ducking his head for a moment. Like always the pain was short-lived, lasting only as long as Randle's string of words.

What was happening to him? Head injury – it had to be.

With a shake of his head he glanced back up at the doctor and sighed. "What happens if I don't want to take it?"

Dr. Randle frowned, his eyes turning hard. Instantly Barton could tell the doctor didn't care for people questioning him or his authority. "You will take the pills." He assured Clint with a stony voice.

A quiet stand off began after Randle's unfinished threat. One hand held out the pills that Clint refused to even touch.

"Look, Mr. Barton. We can do this the easy way – "

"I may have amnesia," Clint interrupted suddenly. "But even I know that's a cliché."

Dr. Randle glared openly for a moment before he stepped closer. "I'll make this simple for you, Mr. Barton. Take the pills willingly or I'll have the orderlies pin you to the bed and force the them down your throat." There was a slight pause before Randle smiled coldly. "It is your choice."

For a minute Clint debated on his answer – he didn't like the idea of people holding him down. He didn't like being forced to take mystery drugs either. His mind drifted back to the security locks on the doors and knew he couldn't escape – even if he wanted to leave there was nowhere for him to go.

With a softer voice Dr. Randle spoke again. "I'm sorry, but without these pills you may have a relapse in health." As he spoke the pain returned fiercely, lancing through Clint's head with unforgiving force. "I've kept you alive when the odds were stacked heavily against you – I don't wish for you any more pain. Please, take the pills."

Clint was relieved when the man stopped talking because as his words died off the knife trying to cut his brain in half vanished. Clint's hand cupped his forehead as he tried to recover. If he was as pale as he felt Dr. Randle didn't comment.

"Fine." He breathed, wondering hopefully if the pills would stop the pain from returning. The odd pain had to be a result of whatever had happened to him.

Feeling dejected Clint held out his hand for the pills, taking them and the bottle of water. With a sigh he knocked them back into his throat and drowned them with a long swallow of water.

Randle didn't leave. He nodded to Clint to open up his mouth so that he could check.

"I'm not a child." Clint growled angrily – unimpressed with how he was being treated.

"And I'm not going to stand by and let you die because you're stubborn." Randle hissed back.

At least there was no pain this time. Clint made a face before he obliged the doctor's wishes and opened his mouth, lifting his tongue when asked to show the doctor that he had actually swallowed the pills.

"Good boy." Dr. Randle responded with no real enthusiasm. He turned to leave but paused at the door. "We're only trying to help you, Mr. Barton."

The pain was sudden, intense and ended as quickly as it always seemed – but Dr. Randle was gone before Clint could mention it.

With a frown Clint was left wondering what exactly the pain was trying to tell him – if it was telling him anything at all. "Again with the paranoia," Clint mumbled to himself quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days after Tony's return to the tower he waltzed into the common area the Avenger's shared. He was positive that Clint would be arriving back at the tower sometime that day – by now the archer would have made the necessary arrangements with his replacement setting him free from Michigan. Of course Tony had felt the same the day before – but SHIELD sometimes worked slowly.

Smiling to himself, Stark snatched an apple out of a bowl of assorted fruit sitting on the counter before flashing a smile to Bruce who was fixing himself some de-caffeinated coffee.

"I seriously don't understand how you can drink that mud." Tony commented playfully, tossing the apple up in the air and catching it mindlessly.

"It tastes the same as the regular stuff." Bruce smiled lightly and took a sip, seemingly enjoying the way Tony cringed dramatically. "And drinking this so called 'mud' keeps the risk of the other guy showing up to a minimum." Bruce added in a matter-of-fact voice. "So your welcome."

Tony couldn't help but nod at that, "It would be nice to keep the tower in one piece for once."

Bruce sipped at his drink with an amused smile as he watched Tony juggle the apple in his hand. "You're in an awfully good mood."

"Of course I am." Tony grinned too brightly back at his friend. "All is right with the world."

"Oh?" Bruce raised a curious eyebrow at his companion. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, the sun is shinning, the world isn't currently being attacked by the latest bad guy wanna-be and Clint is – "

The ding of the elevator opening down the hall captured the men's attention away from their current conversation. Tony waited excitedly for Clint to appear – right on cue, only for someone unexpected to make an appearance.

Both men were surprised when Natasha entered the room, her green eyes narrowing directly on Tony as she stalked forward.

"What did you do?" Natasha snapped as she flew across the room. Her voice was as sharp as a sword drawn for battle but her eyes gave away her fear – for some reason the fearsome Black Widow was terrified.

Both men were immediately set on high alert, tensing visibly as they stared back at the menacing redhead.

"Who me?" Tony asked, trying to sound his normal smart ass self only to fall flat. Fear settled into his heart like lead, weighing him back down to the place he had become so used to – despair.

There was only one thing – one person who could make Natasha Romanoff show such raw emotion: Clint Barton.

"He's gone." Natasha hissed, suddenly in front of Tony after a blur of movement. She slammed Stark up against a near by wall and stared into his face with the darkest glare the billionaire had ever seen. Tony lost his grip and dropped the apple – the small fruit rolled across the room unnoticed. "What did you do?"

Tony's eyes widened realizing the severity of the accusation. "I didn't do anything other than what Fury told me to – which was a first by the way. You should be here thanking me – not using my awesome body to break down walls."

"Natasha," Bruce's calm voice pulled their attention to him. "Perhaps it would help if you told us what exactly has happened."

With a feral growl Natasha released Tony and stalked a few paces away before turning back to face them. "He missed his flight two days ago. He was in the clear – everything was arranged and then he vanished. His tracker went dead half way back from the research facility." She glared deeply at Stark. "You had to have done something to tip them off."

Tony allowed himself a moment of self-doubt to enter his mind as he thought back over his time with Barton. Any way he looked at it Stark knew he had been painfully uncharacteristically careful – thinking before he spoke, before he made a facial expression. He made sure he appeared like a stranger to Barton – just a man with a lot of money who didn't like to be denied something he wanted. Finally he looked up at Natasha with hardened eyes. "Whatever went wrong - it wasn't me."

"Well it wasn't Clint." Natasha said, although her tone had switched to uncertainty as she looked away.

"Wait, why are we just hearing about this now?" Tony snapped suddenly. "You said he vanished almost right after I left, right? And you knew exactly when he missed his flight – what the hell? Why the delay?"

Natasha glared. "I just got the call and Hill didn't have a whole lot of answers."

"So what, instead of getting those said 'answers' from someone who could actually give them to you, you decide to come beat them out of someone who doesn't?" Tony asked incredulously.

"You were closer." Natasha responded simply with frustrated eyes.

There was a pause before Bruce dared to speak again. "Perhaps there is another explanation?"

"Bruce, if you've got something to add," Tony shot a look at his science 'bro' carefully. "Add it without being so vague."

Bruce tipped his head to the side with a light sigh. "I'm just thinking, you both were careful – there has to be another way the information got out. Something or someone else who gave Clint away."

Natasha glared at Bruce, but the deadly edge was gone – replaced by dark understanding. "You're talking about a mole?"

Bruce shrugged a shoulder, dropping his eyes down to gaze into the mug in his hand. "I'm just thinking that Fury wouldn't willingly allow critical information about one of his top agent's latest mission to leak out – at least not without purpose."

"Fury wouldn't set Clint up. Not with a mission like this one." Natasha hissed, but her eyes were growing more uncertain. "But he would put off telling anyone if he thought there was a leak in the organization." She added thoughtfully.

Tony knew as well as she did that Fury worked in mysterious ways. In the world of spies and espionage sometimes things were kept quiet. It was like a silent game of chess with the exception that not all the pieces on the board were aware they were playing.

"You." Natasha turned to Tony. "Hack whatever you need to figure out what the hell is going on. I'm going to have a chat with the director of SHIELD." Without waiting for a response Natasha stormed out the way she had come and by the sound of it, Jarvis had the elevator open and waiting by the time the redhead got there.

"I'm insulted." The billionaire told Bruce who raised an eyebrow in silent question. "Of course I'm going hack in and get answers." Tony said simply, for once not questioning an order. He had planned on doing some research with or without permission from anyone.

Whether Tony liked it or not, he was the reason Clint had gone on that mission in the first place and now he was the reason Clint was missing and stuck in a possible life or death situation. Tony wasn't going to sit idly by with his thumbs up his ass if he could help it.

It took less than an hour for Natasha to get back to SHIELD and confront Nick Fury who was thankfully stationed on the New York base. The director was already gathering intelligence on Barton's sudden disappearance and was not thrilled with the distraction.

He however had come to the same conclusion Bruce had.

"Agent Romanoff." The director said darkly as the redhead nearly took down his door entering his office.

"Did you plan for this?" Natasha hissed deadly as she folded her arms across her chest in a menacing stance. The Widow was pissed. "Did you set Barton up?"

Fury narrowed his one eye at his spy. "Not that I owe you any kind of explanation – but no, I didn't. Agent Barton's disappearance was an unforeseen and unfortunate surprise – and you know as well as I do that I don't like surprises."

The Black Widow stood her ground for a few silent minutes, eyeing her boss for any signs of an elaborate lie. There were none. Deflating Natasha felt panic rising within her heart. "If it wasn't the plan then – "

"Don't worry, I've found the turn coat." The Director announced, picking up a file and handing it to Natasha. "It's been dealt with – unfortunately no information was recovered before the traitor's just deserts."

"He's dead?" Natasha hissed, wishing that she had been the one to pull the trigger. After all it was her partner – well, ex partner who paid the price. This was personal.

"She." Fury corrected, sitting casually in his chair. "Fiona Martin."

With narrowed eyes Natasha flipped open the file and read through the report. The bitch had taken her own life when she realized she had been found out. Now the only real link to what happened to Clint had been severed.

"Apparently she held a rather strong grudge against Barton after Loki and finally stumbled upon a situation to exact her revenge."

"Clint didn't kill Agent Martin's fiancé, Loki did." Natasha growled. When would people realize that Clint was a victim – not the enemy? That he suffered just as much as everyone else had. Maybe even more than everyone else had. "Requesting permission to start my own investigation on Barton's whereabouts?"

"Permission granted." The director replied simply. "Romanoff," he called before she opened the door. "I suggest you take one of the Avengers as back up."

With a simple glance over her shoulder Natasha considered his words before offering a sharp nod and disappearing out the door.

At the tower Tony had gathered enough information to catch him up on what was being discussed at SHIELD. With Bruce working at his side and occasionally standing over his shoulder, the two scientists had deduced what had happened with anger and frustration.

"I thought we had gotten passed the whole 'Clint is a traitor' bullshit." Tony hissed at the picture of Fiona Martin – the word 'deceased' was stamped diagonally across the portrait of the woman whose loose lips had caused their archer to vanish.

"Apparently that isn't the case," Bruce added sadly, his brown eyes greener than normal – betraying that he was less than calm about the situation. "Now that she's dead how will SHIELD figure out what happened to Clint?"

Tony shrugged. "Go interrogate the last person to see him alive."

"What if it was you?" Bruce asked worriedly.

With a sigh Stark looked away from the screen and back at Bruce. "It wasn't me, I got the impression that he was coming home. He was taking the out Bruce."

"So whoever was taking people from that town stopped him from leaving." Bruce sighed. At the moment they had little to go on.

"Someone has to know something. That Swift guy Clint was watching is my first target." Tony said, standing abruptly with determination flooding his eyes.

"Tony, maybe we should let SHIELD – "

"Forget that." Tony cut Bruce off harshly. "Bruce," Tony winced back at his friend. "I did this."

Bruce's eyes widened a fraction before he let out a soft sympathetic sigh. "Tony, you aren't to blame here."

"You're joking right? I chased him away, made him feel like the bad guy – he wasn't. He told the damned truth, Bruce, that was all."

"You were hurt and you had every right to lash out," Bruce said pointedly. "Besides, when you come to his rescue he'll have no choice but to forgive you."

A spark lit in Tony's eyes as he nodded sharply. "Sounds like a solid plan to me." He smirked, regaining his normal cocky attitude.

"Well, now that you've gotten your shit together." Natasha's voice announced at the door. "We should head to Michigan."

"Right you are, Red. We've got ourselves a Hawk to find." Tony agreed cheerfully, although his eyes showed how serious he knew the situation to be. Never losing his smile Tony turned back to Bruce. "Mind holding down the fort while Stalin and I go Hawk Hunting?"

"No problem," Bruce nodded knowingly, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "I'll tell Steve what's going on, and Thor if he visits." Bruce paused momentarily before adding. "If you need any help – "

"We won't hesitate to call," Tony winked before moving to join Natasha.

She poked him in the chest with a sharp finger, stealing his attention. "Don't make me regret letting you tag along."

"You couldn't have stopped me – even if you wanted to." Tony told her simply before brushing by.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint was standing on top of a building somewhere – in a city. It was beautiful. The wind swirled up around him as he stared out and over the impossibly tall glass buildings.

He was dressed in black highlighted in dark purple. The symbol of a bird was printed on his sleeve – but before he could examine it closer a roar startled him.

With a glance around it wasn't hard to see what made the awful noise.

It was big as a thirty-story building and it was currently headed directly towards where he was perched.

With narrowed eyes Clint raised his arms and aimed his – bow? Clint felt confused, why the hell would he attempt to fire an arrow at such a monster? That wasn't going to work.

"Hawkeye, what the hell are you waiting for? Fire!" A voice shouted in his ear, but no one was around and he didn't recognize the voice. Clint felt confused and backed up – there was nowhere to go. Who was the owner of the voice? And what kind of name was Hawkeye?

A whirl of mechanical sounds approached him and Clint watched as Ironman dropped down on his roof next to him. Clint recognized who the metal suited man was but didn't know where exactly the information had come from.

"Clint, what are you doing, you're the only one who can take that thing down." The man behind the mask was saying. "You have the arrow, make the shot!"

"What? Me? I can't – " Clint looked down at the bow in his hand and shook his head. "I don't even know how."

"The hell are you talking about?" Ironman was asking as the dream shifted, like Clint had lost his balance and suddenly he was falling.

"I can't do this!" Clint jerked awake, drenched in sweat as he stopped himself from falling out of his bed.

"The hell?" He cursed softly, thinking over the dream he'd just had. Why the hell would he be dreaming about superheroes? That was what Ironman was, right? A superhero? Clint wasn't sure where he'd learned about Ironman. Maybe he'd seen the news coverage of the press conference when Stark made the announcement. For some reason Cline thought he might have been there in the room – but that couldn't be right. The memory was fleeting, but it was there.

Maybe – no, it was impossible. Clint wouldn't have known Tony Stark, or would he? Why would a soldier be at a press conference like that? Maybe he'd worked security for the press conference – but wouldn't that have been during one of his tours overseas?

With a frustrated sigh Clint pushed the bizarre thoughts away. He did not know Tony Stark and it was obvious that he wasn't a superhero. Superheroes didn't use ancient and ineffective weapons. Besides, monsters like the thing in his dream only existed in movies and fiction.

With a sigh Clint turned over and tried to go back to sleep. It wasn't difficult. The drugs Dr. Asshole gave him made him tired all the time. He either slept or read whatever book Reese would let him borrow from her office. Every once in a while he'd take a trip down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat or chat with Roger. As it turned out tea was growing on him. He learned quickly that the tea tasted a whole hell of a lot better with two or more packets of raw sugar.

Thinking half-heartedly about the tea Clint slipped back into the dream realm.

The clouds were slipping by above him as he lay there on the roof. Clint smiled, taking in the fresh air like it was the first time he had breathed in free air. Maybe it was the first time – the first time in a long time.

"You aren't supposed to be up here." A voice called to him, drawing his eyes away from the sky and off to the side. Even without looking up Clint eagerly continued to soak in the sunshine. A woman with red hair and a coy smile watched him watching her, arms folded across her chest.

"I couldn't stay down there any longer – I needed to get out." Clint found himself telling her. He didn't move when she came closer, sitting next to him with more grace than a normal person possessed. "There weren't any windows – it was worse than that cell."

The look the girl gave him was chilling. "Clint – "

"Sorry," Clint interrupted, looking back up at the sky with a sigh. "I forget that we're still working on your sense of humor."

"My sense of humor is fine." The woman responded with a light smile. "You simply aren't funny." There was a short pause before she spoke again. "You know you didn't have to take the vents."

"What's the fun in walking out the front door?" Clint asked her playfully, looking up into her beautiful face. "I'll go back in a few hours." He promised when he got 'the look' from his companion.

"You'd better." Silently shifting so that she was horizontal beside him. They stayed like that for a while staring up at the passing world. "How are you, Clint? Really?"

"I've been tortured before." He told her, shocked at his own words. Tortured? And who was the woman?

"That's not what I mean, Clint and you know it." She told him seriously. "You almost died."

"I did die, but that's not the point." He turned towards her again, a smile forming on his lips. "The point is you and Phil got me out in time."

"But – " She dropped her eyes, suddenly unable to hold his gaze. For some reason Clint found it endearing how she was trying to hide her own emotions.

"I knew you'd come for me, Natasha." He whispered back to her. "There was no doubt in my mind."

"Why?" She asked sincerely.

He just smiled for a moment. "Because you have always come for me."

Natasha's eyes broke with the emotion she was trying so desperately to hide. "What if someday I don't get there in time?"

"It won't be because you didn't try." Clint smiled, dipping closer to steal her lips with his own.

Clint's eyes popped open as he returned to the waking world. He groaned for a moment before the memories of his dream came rushing back in Technicolor clarity. With a sharp inhale of breath Clint sat forward and narrowed his eyes. The girl in his dream, the red head – "Natasha?" Wasn't that the name of his wife?

Shaking his head Clint disentangled himself from his sheets and stood to pace the expanse of his small room. Was his mind messing with him or was his subconscious trying to tell him something? If he was dreaming about his supposed dead wife than was it really possible that he might in fact know Tony Stark?

Or was his mind simply trying to create memories with what little information Clint could recall?

With a weak sigh he headed towards the door despite still feeling exhausted down to his bones. "Damned drugs," Clint cursed to himself as he slipped out of his room and into the halls. The lights were dimmed and Clint assumed that meant it was nighttime. Being that there were no windows within his realm of living Clint had no idea what time it was without looking at a clock.

After glancing at the clock in the café Clint sighed again. It was after midnight but no where near morning.

Reese had left him a note on her door – explaining that she could be reached by phone if needed. He wondered suddenly if he was the only person left in the building when another wave of exhaustion washed over him.

Tired he headed back to his room and closed the door.

"No, nope – not possible." Tony Stark was grinning back at Clint as they sat at a bar.

"You can believe it or not," Clint said, shrugging a shoulder. There was a much smaller and smugger smile playing on his own lips. "It's the truth."

"I'm sorry," Tony spoke in a way that implied he wasn't truly sorry. "There is no way you could seduce a guy. Mission or no mission it didn't happen – no way. No."

"It was just one of those missions." Clint found himself shrugging. Wait, he had to seduce a guy? Mission? What did that even mean?

Stark laughed loudly next to him, already on his third glass of alcohol. Clint was still nursing his first beer – only one swallow taken. "So what, the guy wasn't into Natasha?"

Natasha – that was his wife's name, wasn't it? Why was she trying to seduce anyone? Why was he? That didn't make any sense.

"He preferred something more 'solid' at least that's what he told me." Clint shivered dramatically. "Worse mission ever – and I didn't technically get tortured for once."

Tony paled noticeably, leaning closer to Clint as if to whisper a secret – they were the only two in the room, which made the action unnecessary.

Clint leaned away with a laugh.

Stake didn't lose his sudden seriousness as he eyed his friend carefully. "You didn't – you know – "

"No!" Clint choked on the second sip of his beer. "Hell no. Don't get me wrong, the guy was handsy and it took a lot of restraint not to kill the guy in the middle of the crowded nightclub, but I managed to wait and snapped his neck back in his hotel room."

"Oh the woes of being an assassin."

Clint shook his head before nodding sharply. "Don't I know it?"

Clint woke again briefly, but the drugs were already pulling him back under before he could really analyze anything further.

__

Tony and Natasha had been in Nowheresville Michigan for an entire day without any solid results. So far they had talked to a number of people who were familiar with Clint's alias – Aaron Quinn – and were willing to talk about the mysterious boy who'd moved to town under such sad circumstances.

There had been several informative people at the local coffee shop and a neighbor girl named Sarah who clearly was taken with Clint.

Natasha hid it well, but Tony saw something in her eyes when they were talking with the girl that lead him to one conclusion – she wasn't exactly 'over' Clint.

"I don't understand why we don't simply go slap some answers out of Swift. He's the bastard in charge." Tony grumbled from the other side of the hotel room the two were sharing while they searched for their missing archer. In such close courters it was a wonder how the two hadn't killed one another yet.

"We can't tip them off, if he's not the master mind then the true leader could move Clint or dispose of him and vanish without a trace." Natasha paused, glancing at Tony before she admitted. "However, I think we're running out of options. No one in town appears to know anything useful – we have to get inside SMRF."

"So we break into Smurf industries and ring Papa Smurf's neck, find Clint and bring him home. I still don't understand why we've waited so long."

"Something feels off about this whole thing." Natasha said, reading over the notes Clint had sent in electronically over the course of his mission. "The medical exam he went through, Clint said he felt uneasy about the doctor – " she frowned deeply, "but something changed."

"So we get the Swift and Dr. Freak of Nature." Tony growled. He was losing his very rare patience and trying desperately not to think of how guilty he felt. "Just as long as we get someone and wrap this up. Who knows what the hell they're doing to him – "

"Shut up Stark." Natasha snapped, her eyes hard as they focused on the billionaire. "Don't you think I know what's at stake here? Don't let your personal feelings get in the way, if we do this wrong Clint will die."

"For all we know he's already dead." Tony found himself shouting back before he could really restrain himself. He was pissed for having to wait though. Clint was in this mess because of Tony's reaction to the truth.

Something that looked a bit too much like fear appeared in Natasha's eyes as she glared back at him. A moment passed before she nodded. "That's a possibility, but I don't think so. If my theory is correct they knew from the very beginning exactly who Clint was. They had the chance to try and kill him in that medical exam – but they didn't. I think they decided to use him instead."

"Use him how?" Tony snapped, really not wanting to hear the answer.

"How else? They've been collecting people all along – that's what Clint was checking out. Maybe they thought he could be of more use alive rather than dead."

Tony fell silent for a moment, thinking back over the reports of the missing people Clint had been investigating. The rumors had been that they were being taken as test subjects – but what kind of tests?

"We really need to find Clint." Tony announced needlessly.

"No shit, Sherlock." Natasha said in true Barton fashion.

They made the call to Fury that night – with the help of an army of SHIELD agents they were going to storm in and take Smurf industries down. They only hoped Clint was inside – or the information of his current location would be found.


	6. Chapter 6

It took a few hours to get a team together but it was that night that SHIELD infiltrated Sound Research. Tony and Natasha were lucky enough to stumble across Swift who was attempting to make a hasty retreat down a back hallway.

"And where do you think you're going?" Natasha asked the pale man as she blocked his way – her gun drawn and ready to fire. She wouldn't, of course – they needed Swift to find Clint.

Behind Swift Tony blocked his only other exit. "I believe the answer is 'nowhere' in case your stumped." Stark smirked behind his mask.

Instead of trying pointlessly to run Swift gave a soft exhale before raising his hands in defeat.

When it was all said in done they were distraught to hear that Dr. Simon Randle was not among those taken into custody. Worse yet – Clint was no where to be found.

"This was why we shouldn't have rushed it." Natasha snapped at Tony when they were alone, waiting to board the transport flight. They hadn't found any signs of Clint at the facility – no files, nothing on the computer. Swift had even gone so far as to wipe the security tapes with Clint on them.

Tony was leaning against a wall across from the redhead. He tried to remain as calm as possible on the outside – but inside he was screaming at himself. Natasha was right – they should have waited, but waiting wasn't Tony's style.

"We'll get the answers from Swift." He told her with more confidence than he felt. "We have to." He added in a quieter voice. Unfortunately involving SHIELD made them have to follow standing orders. Fury wanted Swift back at SHIELD immediately.

With the delicate situation of moles in an organization as powerful as SHIELD needed to know if there were others involved with the information leak besides Fiona Martin.

"If we don't – hell, even if we do that doctor has all the time in the world to move Clint. If he's still alive." Natasha paled dangerously as she stopped moving.

"He's alive." Tony announced with conviction. "Clint's too stubborn to die without one hell of a fight."

__

Clint was dreaming of the roof again.

"Hawkeye, what the hell are you waiting for? Fire!" Steve shouted over the comm. system.

Clint narrowed his eyes at the distance, feeling the gusting wind on his face. It was a bad angle, bad distance and the environment was acting completely against him making the impossible shot. Clint hated to admit it, but as things stood even he couldn't make the shot from his position – and he was the greatest marksman in the whole world.

"I've got an idea." The archer announced calmly, calculating. They had a handful of minutes before the creature breached the city and started doing some real damage. "Ironman, I need a lift."

Tony was next to him within the minute and Clint didn't need to see under the man's mask to know what look he was getting. "Hawkeye, even you can't shoot while I hold onto you. You need your arms."

"You won't be holding me." Clint grinned back at his friend. "I'm going to need you to stay as horizontal as possible," Clint motioned for Tony to move in front of him. "And it would be really nice if you avoided some of the more violent turbulence."

"Clint – " Tony started to argue along with a few other voices of their teammates over the comm. link.

"No time to argue," Barton snapped, storing the arrow while he waited for Tony to allow him to climb onto his back.

"I'm going to over look the fact that this is kinky." Stark hesitated for a moment longer before he sighed in dramatic frustration. "I'll get you as close as possible, just don't fall off before you make the shot."

"I won't." Clint smirked and climbed onto Tony's back as he moved into a hovering horizontal position. It was awkward but Clint managed to find a somewhat stable position on the back of Tony's Ironman suit. It was uncomfortable and slightly shaky but Clint managed to lock his knees around Tony's waist and support himself on the man's arms.

"Let's go." Clint urged.

"Guys," Steve piped up suddenly, "It's almost upon the city – you need to move now."

"No shit, Sherlock." Clint grumbled back as Tony bolted forward. The motion nearly knocked Clint off but the archer grabbed for Tony's iron hard shoulder with his free hand and held on for life.

"You good?" Tony asked – Clint heard his voice through the comm. link – the wind was screaming in his ears as they rushed forward, making it impossible for Clint to hear Tony's words otherwise.

"Fine," Clint said, though the word was stolen away by the wind. As they approached Clint found the wind was worse, which had nothing to do with the monster in front of them – it was just one of those days. As roughly as he dared Clint tapped the back of Tony's suit to tell him to slow when he got close enough.

With careful balance that was only possible from his training at the circus in his youth – Clint pulled the arrow armed with the compound that Bruce assured would reverse the monster in front of them back into the man he used to be out of his quiver.

"You've only got three tries." Steve's voice echoed in Clint's ear again.

"I only need one." Clint responded, though his words went unheard as the words were carried away by a gust of wind. It nearly knocked him off of Tony's back a few times but Clint clenched his knees around Tony's side, aiming with an arrow already pulled back on his bow's string.

Clint inhaled a deep breath as he took aim, finding his anchor as his eyes located the 'weak spot' Tony had told him about earlier and exhaling he let the arrow take flight.

Just as the arrow penetrated the monsters 'skin' a gust of strong wind slammed into Clint and Tony – despite both of their efforts to stay together they were torn apart.

"Hawkeye!" Clint heard Steve call, clearly watching everything unfold from the ground helpless to stop anything. Natasha was no doubt near by, Clint vaguely heard her cursing in Russian as he continued to free fall towards Earth.

The weightless feeling was something Clint was fairly used to – he was always falling or jumping off towering heights, it wasn't new. It was disorienting at first but once Clint managed to stop spinning he got a better idea of the situation.

Where the hell was Tony?

Yelling would be worthless, so instead Clint glanced around to see if he could spot Tony's suit in the air around him as he rushed towards the ground.

The free fall came to an abrupt halt as Ironman appeared at his side, carefully maneuvering Clint's body into his arms and slowing to a stop just above the ground.

Clint breathed out a sigh of relief, slightly embarrassed to be 'bridal style' in Tony's arms. "Looks like your getting better with the snatch and grab." The archer offered as he was settled solidly on his feet on the ground.

"I'm still not 'Fully Pillow Man.'" Tony joked lightly, slapping Clint on his shoulder. Barton stumbled forward a step from the impact, but grinned back at his best friend before glancing over at where the monster had been.

"Did it work?" He asked – it looked like it had, but a little confirmation wouldn't hurt.

Steve and Natasha came running up to them, waiting until they were standing together before answering. "Bruce confirmed it from back at ops. SHIELD is taking Tanner into custody."

The other half of the Hulk had decided he'd be more useful in this battle as a human, which had proven true. Without Bruce's help they would have never been able to reverse Tanner's creation and New York would have been reduced to rubble.

Anything in the monster's path was absorbed into the creature's skin, making it stronger and larger as it moved along. It also had kept the Avengers at a distance – which was why Clint's skill set had been ideal in taking the beast down.

"Anyone injured?" Clint asked, hoping silently that he hadn't taken too long to take the shot.

"No casualties," Steve nodded, checking his teammate over for injuries. "That area was already evacuated. One building was damaged, and it was already condemned. You guys did good."

Natasha nodded, her eyes less subtly giving her partner the once over.

"I'm good." Clint told them with a roll of his eyes. "Fluffy Pillow Man over here caught me." He added with a smirk tossed in Tony's direction.

They exchanged odd looks and Tony joined Clint in a good laugh.

Clint came into Reese's office later that day. The dreams he'd been having still hanging heavy on his mind. His concerned expression was passed onto the woman sitting behind the desk. "Mr. Barton?" She asked worriedly, "Is everything okay?"

"No, I mean, maybe." Clint sighed, sitting in his usual chair. "I just. I've been having these intense dreams – they feel like memories but," He hesitated as his eyes met hers. "They don't really add up."

"Oh?" Reese asked, her eyes sparked with curious and caution. "Maybe if you tell me about them we can work it out together."

There was a shiver in the back of Clint's mind. Not quite pain, but something that ghosted very close.

"In one of the dreams," Clint stopped, feeling the heat of a deep blush rush up the back of his neck.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, we all dream odd things from time to time." Reese's smiling voice drew his eyes back to her.

He nodded and sighed, "I dreamt I was an archer." He explained, seeing something flicker in his therapists eyes although he wasn't sure what it was before it vanished. Maybe he was imagining things. Sometimes the drugs they had him on did that. Dr. Asshole had given him more when he woke up earlier before he'd gone in search of Reese – they were already clouding his mind.

"Like, with a bow and arrows?" Reese asked carefully – not quite judging.

"Yes." Clint nodded. "And I was fighting something. It was really strange looking and huge. It was so much more than my bow and I could handle – but I wasn't alone. I was fighting with Tony Stark's Ironman and a few other people," Clint saw her smile slightly and sighed. "I know it sounds crazy, but it felt right. Like that was where I was suppose to be."

"Mr. Barton," Reese spoke carefully, leaning forward. "Clint." She sighed, taking off her glasses and cleaning them with the material on the bottom of her shirt. Clint's mind wandered slightly, remembering someone else having the habit of doing that. An older man who could be identified with the color green -

"Clint?" Reese's voice broke him out of his concentration.

"Sorry, I thought I was remembering something." Clint admitted, shaking his head and looking back up at the woman.

"I was just trying to tell you that dreams aren't always literal. Maybe yours was some kind of metaphor for how you are taking your memory loss?"

There it was again, that sliver of pain in the back of his mind moving forward. Clint ignored it and tried to focus on Reese more completely.

"Perhaps the thing you're fighting in the dream is the loss of your memories and the people fighting along side you are people like Dr. Randle and me."

As soon as she stopped talking the pain started to recede, but Clint had already given away his hand with a wince.

"Clint?" Reese asked worriedly.

At first Clint ignored her concern. "You think Dr. Randle is Ironman?" He asked mockingly. No one could replace Tony Stark – especially not a person so unfriendly like Randle.

Reese smiled at that. "No, I was thinking I was your Ironman. Trust me, Clint – these dreams are just dreams."

The pain came back, washing over his brain like acid. He cried out this time, hand moving to his forehead as it faded away.

Her smile was gone when he looked up again. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" She asked patiently. "You are clearly in pain."

"Not all the time." For a moment Clint debated on whether or not he should be honest with her. The deciding factor being that he had been exposed to mysterious chemicals, it would be dangerous to keep it a secret. "I'm sorry, it's just sometimes when you or Dr. Randle talk, I get this sharp pain in my head."

"Oh?" Reese responded, curious. "How often?"

"No, like now it's fine. It's just, sometimes when you say certain things – like just now. About the dream." Clint sighed. "I don't know, it might be nothing."

Reese looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. "Well, why don't we test the theory? As me some questions and I'll answer them. Tell me when the pain shows up and when it doesn't, okay?"

Clint nodded and sighed, trying to think up some kind of question. "Alright, well, what's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

Pain shot behind Clint's eyes and the archer winced deeply, his body dipping forward.

"Are you okay to continue?" Reese asked, concern dripping off her lips.

"Yes," Clint sighed, straightening. The pain was sharp and fast, but it hurt like hell. "Favorite place to visit?"

"California." No pain. Clint sighed in relief before pausing to think up another question.

"Favorite food?"

"Mexican." No pain.

Maybe it had been a fluke?

"Favorite movie?"

Reese paused, thinking. "The Hunger Games," she said finally. Pain. It laced through his brain before it retreated as if it had never been.

"What is this proving?" Clint asked, looking up into curious eyes.

"Mr. Barton, it seems like you've been given a gift." She told him excitedly.

"A gift? Can I return it? Because it kind of sucks." Clint grumbled, unsure why sharp and sudden headaches could be categorized as a gift.

"It appears as if you can tell when someone is lying to you, or not." Reese explained. "At least judging by this test."

"Are you saying you've been lying to me?" Clint's eyes narrowed, his guard going up instantly.

"No, I'm saying I'm telling you the truth." Reese corrected, her voice soft with understanding.

"Why would the pain come if someone was telling me the truth?" Clint countered, it didn't feel right. "Why would the truth hurt?"

Reese sighed sadly, "I'm afraid the truth always hurts, Mr. Barton."


	7. Chapter 7

Tony was not calm. He was the opposite of calm, yet somehow he managed to keep a cool face on the outside. Like always Tony was an expert at keeping up an act when he wanted too. Still under the surface Stark was squirming with tension.

Natasha and him were in the belly of a transport plane heading back to New York when all he wanted to do was jump out the back and fly to find Clint – Clint who had vanished off the face of the earth without a trace or bread crumb trail to follow. The archer was simply gone.

Tony's second option was knocking out the guards in the back and strangling Swift until he talked – but Fury wanted the man interrogated at 'home.'

Everything was too quiet and too stationary – Tony wanted action. He needed to do something.

Every since Natasha slammed him against the wall and accused him of tipping Swift off to who Clint was Tony had done everything within his power to not think about it. Guilt wasn't something he dealt with well and Tony always found away to burry burdens.

Like the fact that for most of his life he created weapons that killed millions of people – both innocent and otherwise. Or that a good man had died so he could live back in the desert – a man who was so much more deserving of the title 'hero.' Pepper was on his mind all the time – how she loved him only to betray him in the most intimate way possible. And then there was Clint, his best friend who had simply told the truth and ended up being cast away like an offensive toy.

Unfortunately now that was the only thing Stark could focus on. He remembered the expression Clint had when he had opened the door to find Tony Stark staring back at him. Barton looked like he was ready to take an undeserved hit to the face when they were in the privacy of the limo – pale and unsure. Clint was never unsure – about anything. Clint always knew what was happening, usually before the rest of them had figured it out. He saw things and put the pieces together faster than anyone else could.

Clint was Clint.

Tony tried to wipe the memory from his mind and failed miserably as he stared down at the information his eyes refused to take in.

Despite overwhelming odds Clint had become his best friend. After Loki things had been dark for the archer – Tony had taken it as a challenge and eventually Clint started to be more 'Clint' like and less super depressed assassin man.

Things were good – and then Natasha left the team. It happened abruptly and no one dared ask for reasons. The deadly glares from Natasha and the sad despairing expression from Barton shut even Stark up, which wasn't typically an easy thing to do without duck tape.

"You know, I've always wondered what happened between the two of you." Tony said abruptly, eyeing Natasha while still looking down at his Starkpad. He needed a distraction and she was the only victim around.

Natasha's eyes narrowed dangerously back at the billionaire. "Between me and who?"

"Dumb isn't a good look on you, Natasha." Tony pointed out, setting his device to the side and focusing his full attention on the assassin across from him. Swift was handcuffed in the holding cell in the back and they were in an area that was secured – just the two of them.

"What happened between Barton and I is none of your business Tony." The redhead's glare tightened threateningly.

"I make everything my business. Besides, you know all about my recent drama, it's only fair to share yours."

"Life isn't fair, Stark. Get over it."

"Okay, new tactic. I'll talk and you can just sit there silently denying everything." Tony clapped his hands together in front of him as he leaned forward. "You two were together – I know that much. Not in the sense of a normal boy girl relationship – no, that wasn't your style. After Loki – correct me if I'm wrong – something happened. Shortly after no more relationship."

"It's none of your business." Natasha snapped, looking forcefully away. Her expression slipped after a few minutes ticked by. "He wanted something I couldn't give him." She spoke finally, her voice still holding an edge.

Tony's expression softened slightly as he nodded. "You're lying." He commented pointedly. "I think you wanted to give him exactly what he wanted, but you ran scared."

Natasha glared, but didn't jump to her defense right away. "I couldn't give him what he wanted." She insisted.

"I think all he wanted was you." Tony told her honestly.

__

"I can't shake these dreams, there has to be something to them." Clint argued once again to Reese. He had accepted it the first time – distracted by the whole revelation of his new shinny 'ability' that had developed.

"Clint – " Reese shook her head, already against what Clint was purposing.

"No, I mean, it's just a phone call - or even an email would be simple enough. I just want to try and talk to him. If he knows me then I get some answers – if not, it's not like it'll hurt anyone." Clint pleaded. This was it – he knew it in his heart. He could have his answers – the truth to whether or not his dreams were memories. "Please help me."

Reese stared back at him for a moment before she shook her head. "It's Tony Stark. He won't be easy to get ahold of and you aren't allowed to leave the facility until your cleared medically."

"I'm fine. I've never been more fine in my life. I can breathe," he demonstrated by inhaling and exhaling dramatically. "I can see, move," Clint bent and flexed his body with impressive dexterity. "And the only time I'm in pain is when people tell me the truth."

"Which could be dangerous to you in the long run," Reese pointed out stubbornly. "Until we have more information on how this new ability will effect your way of life we can't just let you go."

"Can't?" Clint asked sharply with narrowed eyes. "Or wont?"

Reese's eyes turned dark for a moment before she shook her head. "Maybe there's a less complicated way to prove your dreams are just that – dreams." She spoke quietly. "You said, in your dreams that you were some kind of amazing archer."

Clint blinked, unsure of where she was going with her words. "Yes." He responded honestly.

"Well, what if we got you a bow and some arrows and set up a target range. If you were an archer you should be able to remember if you have the weapon in your hand. Like everything else you've remembered, it's all instinct. Muscle memory. Like with writing, reading or recalling simple facts about the world. You know things because it comes back to you through doing it."

"You'll do that?" Clint asked, pausing for a moment as he studied her. There was no pain – what did that mean? Wasn't she telling the truth?

"I want to figure this out with you," Reese promised – the pain searing through his head told him her words rang true. "I'll talk to Dr. Randle and we'll work it out."

It wasn't a conversation with Tony Stark, but it was something to hold onto. Clint thought back to the dreams he'd had about being an archer and was positive that he would be able to remember how to use the weapon if it were actually in his hand.

He could do this – he would prove to them that he wasn't crazy.

It took them a while to arrange everything for Clint to try his hand at using the odd weapon.

They had to lead him down to another level of the building, which was exciting for Clint considering that besides the places he'd been in his dreams, he hadn't seen anything but the floor he'd woken up on.

They had set up a target across the expanse of a rather large empty room.

"What did you use this place for?" He asked curiously. Not for the first time did Clint note that there were no windows. There hadn't been any on his floor either. Were they underground or very concerned about privacy?

"It used to be a storage floor." Dr. Randle answered, the pain that shot through Clint's head told him it was the truth – whether he wanted to know or not. Sometimes the pain really wasn't worth it.

Carefully Reese handed Clint the bow they had acquired for him and gave him an encouraging smile.

Clint pulled back on the string to test the tension, gripping the beautiful bow in his other hand. He found his stance and his anchor point against his cheek and simply breathed it in. This was who he was – he knew it. Everything about this felt right as he locked his eyes on the target across the room. His vision wavered slightly due to the drugs he had been given and Clint relaxed his stance.

"The drugs – "

"If you're as good as you claim, would they really matter?" Randle interrupted casually. The sharp pain that slid through Clint's mind told him that the man was telling the truth.

And the bastard was right. Clint knew he wouldn't miss – he never had. At least he was pretty sure he hadn't.

Besides the drugs really only made him tired – nothing else.

With a nod Clint returned to his stance, this time drawing an arrow back with the taunt string. He aimed like the professional marksmen he believed he was and exhaled as he loosed the arrow. It flew across the room with incredible power and speed and thudded into the wall – exactly two feet away from the target.

Clint felt his heart shatter as he stared at the arrow as if somehow it had betrayed him.

He'd missed.

"No, no that was a fluke." Clint shrugged it off, determined that what had just happened was some sort of lie. Maybe it was because he was using an unfamiliar bow?

Clint grabbed another arrow and studied it carefully for imperfections before pulling it back on the string, aiming and releasing. This one was three feet from the target on the opposite side.

Tears burned behind Clint's eyes. "No." He denied weakly – this wasn't how it was suppose to be. He should have been able to hit the target dead center. He was supposed to be something more than a simple psychotic lie detector amnesic with no family or friends.

"Clint, I'm sorry." Reese said sending pain lacing through his head again making his muscles shake in response from the tension. The truth. She was telling the truth – because the truth hurt. He turned away, but set down the bow leaning heavily against the table.

"I was so sure – "Clint whispered weakly. "This is who I'm supposed to be."

"I'm afraid not." Dr. Randle was the one who responded. More pain shot through Clint's head. The truth, it was all the truth – so why did it feel like an elaborate lie?

"Now that you know, you can move on." Reese offered, her hand reaching out to his shoulder to reassure him. "You aren't alone. We're here for you."

No pain.

Clint glanced at her curiously, unsure why he didn't feel anything as she said that. Maybe it was a miss, or maybe Clint was onto something. Maybe they were lying to him. All along, all this time – everything. Nothing felt right except for the bow and his memories of a team he never had. Of Natasha and Tony Stark.

Confused and hurt Clint brushed her off and walked out of the room to head back to his.


	8. Chapter 8

"Good call on adding those drugs to throw off his perception." Reese praised Randle as Clint left them. She casually picked up an arrow before spinning to face her partner.

"Just subtle enough to work without leaving him with the need to question anything." Randle smirked devilishly. "At least now he'll have no choice but to stop asking us to contact Tony Stark. That would be something hard to fake."

"All this trouble." Reese sighed, pricking her finger on the tip of the arrow mindlessly. "I still think we should just repress his memory again. We knew when we performed the first procedure that he might remember some details of his past. That's why we crafted his back-story so carefully – keeping his name so he'd be comfortable and not question anything. Now I'm thinking that was a mistake. The drugs aren't doing enough to keep him compliant."

"They work fine while he's awake," Randle defended himself stubbornly, sounding a bit offended. "I can't control his subconscious. Not without more impressive technology."

Reese frowned, but nodded. "Maybe not, but we can control the way he sleeps. If we can make it so he can't achieve the dream state then our problems will be solved – as long as he stops questioning things."

"He's the only surviving test subject who didn't immediately break down at the first sign of their metamorphosis." Randle sighed looking at her softly. "I'll try anything at this point. Maybe given time I can come up with an added chemical that keeps him from remembering his dreams, but he's already on so many other drugs. It could be dangerous to his liver and his brain – the goal is not to kill him." He smiled brightly pulling the arrow out of Reese's hand as he slipped an arm around her waist. "He is proof that our procedure works. With him we can make millions."

"Aren't you a little concerned that SHIELD has Michael Swift?" Reese asked, fear seeping into her voice.

Randle shrugged off his lovers worry. "I wouldn't worry about Swift. The idiot knew exactly what I wanted him to know – nothing."

"It had to be an Avenger that it worked on – I don't think they'll stop looking for him." Reese sighed.

"They won't find our little experiment – or us." Randle told her confidently, his thumb brushing against the side of her face as they stood close together. "Even if they do manage to get him back he's not the same man they knew."

Reese nodded slowly leaning into Randle's embrace, but her eyes closed with uncertainty. Clint Barton was remembering and there might be a time in which he couldn't be convinced he was imagining things.

__

"You will tell me everything you know." Natasha circled around the chair Swift was currently restrained to. They were in the heart of SHIELD now and she had the brightest of green lights from the director. Swift was at her mercy – already he was bloody and bruised and she hadn't asked a single question.

"You can torture me for as long as you want, I do not know where Clint Barton is." Michael said simply, staring at the wall in front of him. He paused for a moment before looking directly at Natasha. "Simon thought it best that I not know – I guess he was correct. I have no information regarding your Agent's whereabouts."

Natasha's heart clenched painfully in her chest – the man wasn't lying. She was an expert on reading people when they lied. She could read it on their faces, muscles and posture. This man wasn't even trying to hide.

"Tell me what they've done to him." Natasha changed her tactics. If the man truly had no idea where Clint was, there was no use pushing the subject.

"I haven't been updated on the subject since he was moved." Swift answered, receiving a backhand across his face. He spit blood from his mouth back at her, but Natasha didn't flinch.

The Black Widow didn't care for her former partner being reduced to a one-word description – subject. Like he was an object, not a man.

"You know more than you're telling me." Natasha hissed.

Swift looked at her lazy and smirked ever so slightly. "I don't know his condition – but I can tell you what happened to the others." He offered in a way that sent a shiver down Natasha's spine. Like he knew she wouldn't like what he was about to reveal to her – or that somehow the knowledge she was about to learn would hurt her more than she could ever hurt him.

Still, Natasha had to know. Any information could lead them to Clint.

She gave a nod to get him to continue.

"The first test subject died a rather short, uneventful death. Several adjustments were made to the drug before we tried again. The death of subject two was much more interesting – she set the room on fire and died in the flames."

"A fire? How?" Natasha asked suddenly, her worry increasing.

"I wasn't there of course, but Simon told me she started the blaze with her mind." Swift said simply – as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Natasha's heart beat faster, but she didn't show any stress on the outside. Instead she simply glared at her subject of interrogation. "Continue." She said without the reluctance she felt. She wanted to know what exactly the drug was supposed to do – but first she needed to know if her partner had any chance of surviving.

"The next three subjects died during the procedure. They weren't strong enough, didn't have the right brain chemistry. We started to select more carefully after that." Swift informed Natasha as he glanced up at the security camera filming silent in the corner of the room before continuing his grisly tale.

"The sixth subject went insane. He came through the procedure okay but lost his mind in the initial stages of their recovery. The report said that he could hear people's thoughts and lost the ability to separate one person's thoughts from his own. He was terminated once it was clear he could not recover."

Natasha suppressed a shiver at the word 'terminated' knowing exactly what that meant. The subject was put down like a sick animal.

"The next showed signs of extreme empathy before her suicide." Swift smiled. "I actually wish I knew what happened to the late Agent Barton. What skill he showed signs of before his ultimate death."

Natasha lost it in a flash, her wrist breaking his nose in one swift motion. "For your sake he'd better be alive."

"If he's still alive he's already gone insane – that's just how the drug works. When you're mind is awakened to that kind of power, it changes you." Swift smiled, blood dripping down his chin from his split lip.

Natasha glared, but recovered her emotions – shoving them behind her mask with shaky security. "Where were these procedures done?"

"I do not know." Swift answered honestly. "I was interested in the results, not the process."

"This drug – what exactly did Dr. Randle want it to ultimately do?" Natasha asked, using all her focus to keep her voice level.

"We wanted to do what everyone wants to do – make humans better. Are you aware that we only use an average of ten percent of our brain? The drug we've created – Dr. Randle created – targets a specific section of our brains that is dormant naturally."

"And when awakened these abilities manifest?" Natasha needed to clarify.

"Yes. Or the subject dies. Usually they die." Swift nodded. "You see, our brains aren't used to such – openness. We hoped to have a better grasp on the procedure and switch to younger subjects. Our theory is that younger brains might be able to adapt to the change with more ease than adult brains."

"Why did you use Barton as a test subject?" Natasha asked her final question, accepting what Swift said as the truth.

"His brain, of course. His vision is something of an anomaly, as I'm sure SHIELD knows. It's not natural. His brain was already more open than most. That and the addition of Loki's manipulation led us to believe he was worth the risk."

"The risk?" Natasha pressed.

"We were made aware that he was an agent of SHIELD before his arrival. Originally we planned on disposing of him and moving our operations to a secondary facility." A fist to the face halted Swift's recount. He glared at her, silently asking what he'd said wrong.

"You told me you had no idea where he might have been taken." Natasha hissed. "The secondary location?"

"I was never informed as to where it was." Swift told her with a stiff look.

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "Why are you so open with this information?"

"Because I'm not interested in being tortured and because I know for a fact none of this information will help you find your agent. He's either dead or is being driven insane. Once he is terminated Dr. Randle will go to ground and since you have only a vague description of what he looks like you won't ever find him. The project will live on – with or without me."

Natasha growled, but for a moment didn't speak. Although Michael Swift had given her a fair amount of information – it was true. None of it would help her locate Clint or Dr. Simon Randle. Her heart twisted for a moment before she looked down at the man. With several more powerful hits to the man's prone form she turned gracefully and walked to the door, leaving without another word.

With Dr. Randle in the wind Natasha feared she'd never find her hawk – even if she did, with the information she now had she knew the odds were against Clint. He would be different – changed.

Her eyes misted as she stormed down the hallway. The tears dried by the time she entered the observation room and stood before Director Fury and Tony Stark. Bruce and Steve were still at the tower 'on call' for anything the world sent their way. Blissfully unaware of the shit storm Clint had fallen into.

"So, this sucks." Tony broke the silence, leaning against the two-way glass casually.

"Understatement of the year." Natasha snapped at him, but her glare was fixed on Fury. "You should have never sent him on that mission."

Tony visibly stiffened at her words – even though they were directed towards someone else, he was clearly blaming himself. Rightly so. Maybe not – Natasha reminded herself quickly. It was Pepper – it was Keen. It was the circumstances but mostly it was in the past. At the moment they all needed to start focusing on the future – on bringing Clint home.

First they had to find him.

"I'm starting to believe that myself." Fury shocked her by agreeing. His eye stared at the floor for a moment before looking back at her. "What has happened can't be reversed." Fury said to both of them. "Agent Barton isn't like other people – he's come back from worse odds. Until we know for sure that he is dead – we keep looking."

"I'd like to have all the information we've gathered from Smurf headquarters without having to break into your firewall, again – if that's at all possible." Tony spoke up after a pause.

"Done." The Director nodded sharply. "We'll continue to search our way, I'll let you know if – when we find something. It'll only be a matter of time."

"Time Clint might not have." Tony pointed out darkly before pushing away from the glass. "I'm heading home. Natasha?"

She nodded, glaring one final time at Fury before leaving with the billionaire.

__

Clint wished he could lock himself in his room. He wanted to hide or in the very least disappear for a while. He was tired and felt so incredibly lost that he just wanted to lay down and never get back up again.

He had missed – that wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be possible even drugged Clint had made harder shots under worse circumstances. That is – if his dreams were telling him the truth.

But they weren't the truth – not really. They were just lies created by his subconscious, if anything his 'target practice' session proved that he was just a man looking for an identity. His brain was filling in the blanks with the information he had.

The redhead was probably his wife. Tony Stark he knew from news reports and papers he'd read. The other 'Avengers' were probably gathered from the same source. Of course Clint would try and make himself out to be a hero – he was afraid of who he really was, what was better than making himself into a hero?

He felt despair as he realized he knew nothing about his history. Nothing that was real except for the names of the dead – his name as well. Clint Barton died as a result of being exposed to dangerous chemicals at work.

All that remained was a man who had lost his past and had no idea who he was anymore.

His breath was stolen when the door cracked open and Reese stepped inside. Again he wished he could lock them out – keep them all away. No matter where he went in his prison they could find him.

"Leave me be." He requested in an even tone.

Reese hesitated before closing the door behind her, "I can't do that, Clint." She whispered, coaxing the pain back through his mind. He hated her voice for doing that to him – for causing the pain so easily.

"You could if you tried harder." Clint responded coldly, glaring over at her.

She tipped her head to the side and gave him a pitying stare. "Now, Clint, we didn't cause you to miss that shot." She whispered to him, spilling more pain over and through his mind. He curled forward, gripping his head to block the fire as best he could.

"Just go." He begged quietly – he couldn't be around them now. Not when he felt so completely devastated. He needed time to work things out alone – to find something to hope for and hold onto.

"I think it would be better if you talked to someone," Reese offered more pain.

Always pain. Always the truth – or whatever passed as the truth these days.

"Talking just gives me a headache." Clint growled. He was done, so done. He just wanted her to go and give him space to figure this all out. He wanted fresh air to breathe or a Goddamned window to look out. "I just want silence. It's all pain with you and him. Just leave me the hell alone."

"I'll go, for now." Reese conceded after a long pause. "But you can't hide away forever, Clint. We're going to help you through this Clint." The man on the bed didn't look up as she left the room and shut the door behind her. He was grateful she had left.

"I can damned well try." He responded after a few minutes passed by. He wanted to hide – to escape, but there was no where for him to go.


	9. Chapter 9

Clint wasn't sure how he had ended up agreeing to this. Even the offered prize of taking a walk outside didn't seem worth this kind of mental and physical torture. His head was pounding with the roller coaster of pressure it was experiencing.

Yep, Clint decided silently as he rolled his head back to try and ease the pressure – should have stayed in bed.

It had been after his last dose of pills when Reese had talked with him convincing to do this. Honestly Clint didn't even know what she had said but somehow he ended up in her office and now he was enduring complete agony.

Randle wasn't there – that was one thing looking up. The rest was crap. She was talking, testing, and teasing Clint's new ability. It hurt. It hurt much worse than random truths. These were directed. She talked longer, saying more things that kept the pain practically constant.

She stopped when his blood started to pour from Clint's nose and once again when Clint let out a scream telling her to shut up.

He was glad when she gave him a fifteen-minute break of pure silence. She also gave him more pills that took the edge off the pain for the next hour of 'interrogation.' He was shaking, pale and soaked in cold sweat.

Clint couldn't help but think that a friend wouldn't do this to him – they wouldn't cause pain on purpose. They would avoid it – even if they had to go out of their way to lie instead of telling the truth.

This wasn't right – it wasn't even close.

Would this be the rest of his life? Would he be treated like a freak of nature – something to be tested and pushed to and beyond its limits? It hurt. The whole situation – the fact that he hadn't even been allowed outside made Clint sick to his stomach. Although that could also be because he was being freaking tortured.

"Stop." Clint groaned as Reese continued to talk – tell the truth – whatever. "Please, can we take another break?" He asked, wincing when he felt warm blood dripping from his nose again. He rolled his eyes in frustration as he tipped his head back and pressed the towel Reese had given him against the flow.

Reese watched him with impatience.

"Just a few more questions." She offered sending pain lacing through Clint's skull. He moaned with closed eyes. "You have to understand how exciting this all is. If these chemicals awakened a dormant ability in your brain – we might be able to replicated it in others."

"Unless you hate the person you want to do it to – don't." Clint responded harshly, head covered with trembling hands.

Reese shook her head. "You don't seem to understand how valuable this information is, Clint. You are one of a kind – something no one has ever seen before."

"Yeah, well don't forget that I'm human. A human that has feelings – and right now I feel a lot of pain."

Reese paused with a soft sigh, "I understand your discomfort."

"Like hell you do." Clint stood abruptly, holding the red stained towel to his still flowing nose. "I'm done."

"Clint – wait." Reese stood with what Clint could assume was panic as he stalked towards the door.

"No." Clint turned back to her as he forcefully opened the door. "I'm done. Get someone else to be your damned lab rat." He knew that he shouldn't have snapped – something in his gut told him that reacting badly would end badly for him. Still – he couldn't take it anymore. She was literally torturing him and didn't seem to give a damn.

Clint wanted out.

__

It was much later that night that Tony found it – an anomaly in the blueprints of Smurf headquarters.

"Natasha." He called to the redhead who had been studying personal files on the other side of the lab. She abandoned the copies immediately and appeared at his shoulder. "See that?" He asked, pointing to the screen.

"Yeah, it's a door." Natasha narrowed her eyes, waiting for the point.

"This is from the blueprints we managed to get from the previous owner. These are the ones we recovered from the site." He pulled up another set of blue prints nearly identical – nearly. She swallowed thickly – the door was gone.

"Either they decided that door was no longer necessary or they changed the building structure for a reason." Tony told her. "It's a long shot, but – "

"We'll take what we can at this point." Natasha breathed. "Let's get the others and head out." If Tony was right Clint had been under their noses all along. It was infuriating – but if they could get to Clint now, that was all that mattered.

__

Clint dropped onto his bed when he got back to his room. Exhausted he breathed in deeply only to stop when the pain spiked again. His head was still recovering from Reese's 'truth' session. Not that random short-lived pain was any better – but it was more preferred over consistent agony.

His eyes slipped closed as he tried to find some sense of peace. He didn't want to sleep and dream about more lies and he didn't want to stay awake trapped in this hell – there was no winning.

The door opened and Clint was slow to move – Randle, Reese and three impossibly large orderlies were already inside. Alarm took over Clint's mind as his muscles tensed and he flattened his back against the wall behind him. His mind was still sluggish with the weight of the drugs and pain but his eyes flickered from danger to danger rapidly as Reese stepped forward.

"Clint, we aren't going to hurt you." She spoke in a low, soothing voice. The pain spread through his head and Clint was starting to think that the pain was a warning – not a proof of the truth.

"Back," He flung his arm out in front of him as a warning. "Stay away from me."

"We can't do that, Clint." Reese told him sadly, reaching behind her. One of the orderlies handed her a prepared syringe that sent Clint's heart into a frenzy.

"I'm warning you." He told her, moving off the bed and into the corner of the room – she followed slowly making him continually nervous. His eyes zeroed in on the syringe and his entire being was screaming to keep it away – it was dangerous.

"Clint, we just want to help you, but we need you to relax – that's what this is for." The therapist informed him, carefully showing Clint the syringe as if her words would help him calm down – they didn't. She stepped closer and Clint pressed further into the corner he found himself in.

Reese didn't take the hint – she moved closer and closer until Clint had no choice but to react.

When he moved he did so with fluid efficiency he barely registered. It was as if his muscles had taken over and reacted in his defense – filling in for what was lost in his mind. When Clint blinked the three orderlies were charging him and Reese was crumpled on the floor – her neck bent at an awkward angle.

Clint fought with more strength and ferocity he never knew he had, snapping the bone of one of the guard's arms – it was the scream that startled him out of his panic induced stupor.

Blinking furiously Clint stared down at Reese's dead body. Dead. He'd killed her – he murdered her with his bare hands. It had been easy – second nature. One minute she was alive, the next she was dead – because of him.

He gasped as the weight of the situation slammed into him. Whether in self defense or not he had just killed a woman – one who claimed to be helping him.

"Subdue him!" Randle screamed to the other orderlies who roughly made sure they had complete control over Clint who had suddenly stopped struggling.

The needle slipped easily into unguarded flesh as Clint stared numbly down at the body.

He'd killed her.

He'd killed without a second thought – who the hell did that? Who killed women without remorse? Except Clint did feel remorse – he hadn't meant to do it – he'd just reacted.

"I didn't – " He breathed out heavily, unable to look away from Reese's dead body. "I didn't mean – "

"You will suffer for what you've done." Randle spoke harshly, closed fist punching a breathless Clint first in the gut and then across the face.

Randle's hand closed around Clint's throat making it impossible for him to breathe. With eyes that showed more emotion than Randle ever had the man moved closer – whispering roughly into Clint's ear. "I will make you cry and beg for mercy before I take everything from you again. Next time I will not coddle you like she did, next time you will know your place."

The drug the orderlies had injected into his system and the inability to breathe sent dark waves crashing over Clint – dragging him under and into the depths of unconsciousness.

"Take him up to the procedure floor and secure him to the bed." Randle hissed to the orderlies, driving is fist one last time into the unconscious man's stomach. The nameless orderlies did as told, exiting the room with Barton being dragged between them.

Once alone Randle moved to his fallen lover's side. He knelt by Reese's still form and cupped her face with his hands. "You put too much trust in him – your heart was too soft. I will not let our dream die with you." His eyes were dry as he dipped his head and gathered Reese up into his arms and stood. "I will make him pay dearly for killing you." He vowed as he exited the room.

The orderlies and guards hooked Clint up to the various machines that would keep him under for the procedure.

Randle had left the building to deal with Reese's body but promised to return before the day was done to deal with the patient.

Ironically it was because of Reese's death that he wasn't there when the Avengers arrived.

Once they located the spot where the hidden door should be the team stood together and stared at the blank wall.

"Now what?" Bruce asked nervously, not liking the emptiness of the hallways. If this really was where Clint was being held he thought that there should be more guards. Except that was the beauty of being 'under' the radar – Dr. Randle must have really believed they'd never be found.

"There must be some hidden way to reveal the door." Steve offered, searching the walls for any oddities.

"Cap, you've been watching to many retro movies – I'm breaking down the wall." Tony announced, aiming his hands towards the door and sending an energy blast into the plaster. It crumbled on impact, revealing an elevator cart. "Bingo." He grinned under his mask.

"That's only if it still works." Steve groaned, seeing sparks from some loose wires.

"Okay, so blowing up the wall wasn't the most efficient idea – but it worked. Jarvis, is the elevator usable?"

"Yes sir." The AI responded dutifully.

"Good enough for me, all aboard!" Tony waved a hand for the others to get in. They did, Tony standing in front just in case they were attacked when they reached their destination. Bruce getting hit by a bullet would probably end whatever element of surprise they had going for them at the moment. Hulk rampaging and destroying the building would be counterproductive – not to mention dangerous for Clint's safety. If he was even still alive.

Inside they saw the panel. "Wow this place goes down a ways." The billionaire glanced to Natasha and pointed to the panel. "Pick a floor, any floor." He joked even though the situation was anything but funny.

"We'll check them all. If we monopolize the elevator they won't be able to escape. There were no other signs of exits in the parameter search." Natasha told him and pressed the button to take them to the floor directly under them.

Since there were no elevator doors anymore the lift started to drop after a pause and stopped at the next opening.

"No bullets," Bruce commented wearily. "That's either a really bad sign – "

"Or a good one." Tony insisted. "They weren't expecting to be found."

"After we took down SMRF upstairs having more guards than necessary would draw to much attention." Natasha spoke next, her voice level – she was trying not to hope too much.

"She's right," Steve agreed. "Less traffic draws less attention."

"Let's hope that's the case." Bruce nodded as they walked off the elevator.

"Someone should stay here, to stop anyone else from using the elevator." Steve announced. "I'll stay." He added after sharing a look with Bruce – the man wasn't a true medical doctor, but he was the closest thing they had on the team. If Clint was in bad shape – Bruce would be more helpful than Steve.

Something was bothering Natasha though, if there weren't many guards than Clint should have been able to escape – if he were able to. Maybe they were keeping him drugged.

They found Clint three floors down, strapped down onto a table and guarded lightly. Tony and Natasha subdued the guards while Bruce rushed forward to check over Clint.

"Bruce?" Natasha questioned when the men were bound and on the floor. "Is he – ?"

"He's alive," Bruce assured her. "I'm not sure if he's okay though."

Tony looked at Clint's pale form and noted the bruises forming on the side of the SHIELD agent's face. "Can we move him?"

Bruce adjusted his glasses, looking over various things Clint was hooked up to. "I think so – I think he's just sedated." Carefully he nodded to himself before looking at the others. "We can move him, but we should take any information we can get from this place."

"SHIELD is on their way, let them gather the information." Natasha spoke up, moving closer to her ex partner's still form. "Let's take him home."


	10. Chapter 10

The trip home was uneventful – no one really said anything to anyone. Occasionally someone would ask Bruce for an update on Clint's condition, but nothing changed.

"He's still unconscious." Bruce found himself repeating in variations. In all honesty the doctor was grateful Clint wasn't awake – they had absolutely no idea what they were dealing with.

The information gathered from Michael Swift's interrogation painted a dark picture. They had no idea if Clint was still in his right mind – or what ability, if any, had manifested.

"He's alive," Steve told Banner as they stood watch over Clint's form. "For now that's all we need to know – we'll work the rest out. You and Stark can reverse whatever happened to Clint, reverse it back to normal."

"You seem very confident in our abilities." Bruce commented lightly while he checked Clint's vitals. It was something to do – something to calm the nerves bubbling inside of him. The Other Guy didn't like what had been done to his teammate – it was taking a lot of distractions to keep the Hulk contained.

"I trust you." Steve said with a small smile. "It will work out – he's going to be okay. We all will be okay."

Elsewhere on the transport Tony was trying desperately to reign in his emotions. On one hand he was relieved and excited – Clint was alive, they had rescued the archer. Tony still had time to make things right and reclaim Clint as a friend.

He'd already started brainstorming some ideas – lavish gifts and big gestures – anything and everything to make Clint feel like he was welcome again.

On the other hand Tony was drowning in worry and apprehension – Clint might not be the same, he might never be the same again. In anger and betrayal Tony had punished the wrong person and now that man might have to live with the fall out for the rest of his life.

It was a wild storm of pulling emotions, but Tony held onto the fact that Clint was alive. If they could keep him that way Clint could be saved. He had to be. For the sake of them all – Clint had to survive this.

Natasha kept a safe distance, but never lost sight of her former partner. She couldn't risk him disappearing again, although she realized the fear was childish. Clint was saved – physically. She feared for the unknown state of his mind and soul. It seemed like the world was hell bent on destroying the archer – again and again he was shattered and left to put himself back together.

With help – Natasha reminded herself.

Clint didn't have to be alone. He had the team and he had her. She wouldn't – couldn't leave him now. Her heart wouldn't let her body leave him now – not when he was so vulnerable. If this was anything like after Loki Natasha knew Clint would need her and all the help he could get.

Clint wouldn't be alone.

__

When they finally arrived back at Stark Tower and set Clint up in a room, the waiting game began. They took the hours in shifts of two. Steve and Bruce insisted on going first, convincing Natasha and Tony that Bruce needed to make sure Clint was hooked up to all the machines he needed to be hooked up to.

Bruce also took the moment to draw blood and take a CAT scan of Clint's head. He was sure that there would be plenty of scans and blood tests in the evidence SHIELD collected from Sound Research, but Banner wanted to do his own. At this point Bruce didn't want to trust anything done to Clint.

Clint started to stir a half an hour into Natasha and Tony's watch. Natasha stood like a statue at the door, her eyes focused completely on Clint – Tony paced, fidgeted and expelled any and all of his pent up energy and emotion through animation.

When Clint's eyes flinched they held their breath and moved closer. The groan that followed told them that their archer was close to consciousness.

__

Clint floated towards consciousness. His eyes opened slowly and blinked away the fog as he stared up at the ceiling. The soft voice of a stranger drew his eyes to the side. Two faces stared back at him, both bathed in worry mixed with hope – it was in their eyes.

He blinked silently back at them as his sleep state faded and his memories returned. His body tensed as he tried to figure out where he was – what he'd done. Who he'd –

"This – " Clint shot forward, tense with defense as he flinched away from them. He knew their faces, but they didn't belong in the waking realm. "Is a dream?" He questioned, confused.

The two strangers shared a look before they turned their worried eyes back to him. "No," The man said calmly and then smiled a blinding smile. "We rescued you, feel free to thank us at any point in the near future. Or now, now works too."

Clint blinked again, his muscles never losing their tenseness. "Thanks?" He said with a question tied tightly to the end. He swallowed when he remembered the last thing spoken to him – the promise of pain before everything would be taken away. He looked at them and feared this was some sort of Trojan horse – a way to cause him pain sent by Randle.

Barton stared back at them and silently looked for any indication that they weren't the people he'd dreamt up. They were identical. Besides that Clint had never told Reese enough details for them to find duplicates. Tony Stark looked exactly like Tony Stark and the redhead – Natasha, looked like his redhead. How was that possible – wasn't she dead?

"Clint?" Natasha asked in a calm even toned voice.

Clint stared back at her with wide-eyed shock and fear. "I think you're dead." He said after a beat. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Dead?" Both Natasha and Tony asked in unison.

"Dead." Clint whispered in confirmation.

"Why?" Natasha was the first to ask.

Clint swallowed thickly as he thought back to Reese's dead body. Crumpled on the floor. Dead. Dead because he had killed her – his hands had snapped her fragile neck. His body started to shake with the memory, the realization that he was a murderer.

"I killed her – she said she was trying to help me, now she's dead." Clint dropped his eyes and curled into himself, his hands suddenly covered his ears loosely as he leaned further back into the headboard of the bed. Further away from the strangers – the lie. They weren't really there – they couldn't be there. It wasn't possible.

"Clint?" The woman's voice called to him, but he didn't look up. "Who did you kill?"

He was surprised how gentle her voice sounded – there was no judgment or disgust. Maybe if he told them, confessed openly, they would know that he didn't mean it. "It was an accident – I didn't – " He breathed sharply and realized he was close to hyperventilation. "Tell him, tell Dr. Randle I didn't mean it, I swear – she, she startled me. I felt – cornered."

"Breathe, Clint." They didn't crowd him as he talked, they didn't touch him unnecessarily. Clint was vaguely sure that the girl was instructing Tony Stark to keep his distance. Her voice brought on a sense of calm. It washed over him as he took in deep breaths.

When he was calm again he looked up into her green eyes. "Better?" She asked – he nodded.

"Are you okay?" The man who looked like Tony Stark asked. All humor was gone from his now pale face.

Clint looked back at him and felt the panic stir inside of him once again. "No." He answered honestly. "I'm not. Is this a dream?" He demanded with narrowed eyes. He just wasn't sure about anything anymore. There was no pain here – which was a nice change, but confusing.

"No." The girl said with sharp confidence. No pain – what did that mean? She seemed to be telling the truth, but the truth was supposed to hurt. Literally, hurt – at least for him.

"I'm not sure what to believe." Clint sighed and looked away from them.

"Who did you kill, Clint?" Mr. Stark asked, not with accusation but with curiosity.

"Reese," Clint responded quietly, eyes turned down in shame. "Dr. Sandra Reese." He spoke her full name from his short cache of memory.

"Tony," Natasha nodded to Mr. Stark and the billionaire grabbed some sort of tablet and started to type something on the screen.

Clint watched with detached interest until the redhead drew his attention back to her with another question. "Why do you think you're dreaming, Clint?"

The amnesiac looked back at her with broken eyes. "Because you're dead." He said unsatisfyingly. He knew it as soon as a look of pure frustration and fear washed over her beautiful face. Quickly he decided to add more. "They told me you were dead."

"And you believed them?" Mr. Stark huffed with a look of disbelief.

"I don't remember," Clint tried to explain.

"You don't remember me dying? Or what they told you?" Natasha asked.

"I don't remember – anything." Clint clarified as he stared back into her worried eyes. "I woke up in that place, I didn't know anything. No name, no family no history at all. They said I had a wife and she died."

"But you recognize me?" Natasha asked, confused.

"I dreamed of you." He tried to explain weakly. He glanced back at Tony Stark who watched him curiously. "You too." He added. "I dreamed – but they were lies. They told me it wasn't true, and it wasn't. This isn't real – it can't be." Clint shook his head in despair. His eyes misted as he dropped his head in his hands. He drove his palms into his eyes as he trembled.

"Clint? What can we do to help you?" The redhead asked him, a soft hand touched his forearm gently. Clint didn't uncover his face.

"No one can help me." He whispered back to her.

__

Tony watched Clint in complete disheartenment. Clint was right there, but at the same time he wasn't. He was lost, but hopefully not forever. Tony looked at Natasha with unmasked concern. "I'm going to go get Bruce." He announced and backed out of the room. He hoped that Natasha could reach Clint somehow, but if not they did really need Bruce. Bruce needed to be kept in the loop if they were going to help Clint through this.

Out in the hall he glanced down at the Stark pad in his hand, the search was still pending but soon they'd have an ID – hopefully – on the doctor Clint named.

"Jarvis let Bruce and Steve know that Clint is awake and inform them that he appears to have amnesia."

"Right away, sir." The AI responded immediately.

Steve was with Bruce in the lab when they got the announcement from Jarvis. It took a minute for the information to sink in. Amnesia. Clint didn't remember.

"Well, that explains why he didn't escape." Bruce offered after a moments pause.

"Yes." Steve replied, at a loss for what to say or do. One of their own was lost to them mentally. "Jarvis, how does Clint seem?" The Captain asked worriedly.

"Scared, sir." Jarvis replied in almost a soft voice – far too soft for an electronic voice to be able to sound.

Bruce and Steve shared a look before they headed to the medical wing of the tower. They met Tony in the hallway – his face was pale and his eyes studied the screen of the Stark Pad in his hand.

"Tony?" Bruce called to gather his attention to them.

Stark looked up and grimaced. "Clint doesn't remember much, he's confused and thinks we're not who we say we are – he thinks Natasha should be dead. Apparently this woman – " Tony turned the screen around so that they could see Dr. Reese's picture. "Created a pretty convincing lie."

"His blood work showed he was heavily drugged for a long period of time." Bruce informed his friend. "If he really has amnesia there's a chance he doesn't know what being sober feels like."

Tony paled further. "That's incredibly disturbing." He choked out and shook his head. "Well, he'll be fine now, right?"

Bruce hesitated. "There were a few chemicals I was unfamiliar with. I'm not sure what they were used for. Possibly they were used to repress his memory, there were some strange anomalies on this brain scan."

"That sounds ominous." Tony grunted unhappily. "Withdrawals?"

"Possibly, we might be able to develop a synthetic version of the chemical to help ease him off of it." Bruce sighed, "It's still might not be pleasant for him."

"We'll keep him comfortable – I owe him that." Tony echoed Bruce's sigh.

Steve narrowed his eyes at his teammate. "Tony, this is not your fault."

"Feels like it is." Tony disagreed.


	11. Chapter 11

Clint realized weakly that this wasn't going away and he wasn't going to wake up. Left alone with who he assumed was Natasha he felt helpless and small. Part of him wanted to trust what he saw and heard as reality, but a larger more dominate part of him wouldn't trust anything.

When he had first opened his eyes Reese had been there with Randle – they had twisted truths and still he had trusted them, well Reese anyway. Now they were replaced by figments of his subconscious imagination and Clint was completely lost.

Desperately Clint wanted to trust something or someone, but he was quickly finding that nothing was trustworthy. He was giving himself away to easily to people who wanted to use him for something – even if he wasn't quite sure what that something was.

People were there both in his dreams and in reality – and Clint wasn't sure of any of them. They were all strangers.

Hell, Clint was a stranger to himself – how incredibly messed up was that?

"What are you thinking about?" The redhead asked curiously. She kept her distance now that he was calm, enough to give him space but not enough to indicate that she wanted to leave.

"That I can't trust anyone." Clint answered honestly, his arms rested limply on top of his drawn up knees. He had nothing to hide – he was trapped and he was never going to be free. "If Randle wants me to fall for this he'll be disappointed."

Natasha frowned deeply and shook her head. "When I find Randle he's a dead man." She vowed in a cold voice that sent a shiver down Clint's spine and brought the tension back into his shoulders. She saw his reaction and froze. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you – I just wish I could prove to you that we're not like the people who held you before."

"I'd ask to be set free," Clint sighed as he avoided her watchful eyes. "But I have no where to go – except maybe jail."

"You aren't going to jail." Natasha promised sincerely.

"I'm a murderer," Clint shot back darkly. "Murderers belong in jail. At least I think they do – I deserve it after what I did." Everything he thought, everything he knew seemed to be wrong. Maybe it all was a lie. Some fantasy his amnesiac mind made up to fill in the blanks or make up for the crap life he'd lived before.

"Clint Barton," Natasha snapped harsh enough to draw his eyes up to hers. She looked fierce – not like someone you should mess with. "You are many things, but you are definitely not a murderer and you didn't deserve any of this."

"Why is there no pain when you talk?" Clint needed to know. "Did it go away? What the chemical changed – is it gone?" He hoped they somehow had cured him. Clint wasn't sure anyone could live with such pain all his or her life. He knew he couldn't.

The redhead looked hesitant before she spoke and casted a glance towards the door cautiously. "We aren't exactly sure what they did to you yet." She seemed to want to wait for someone else to be present for the conversation, so Clint sighed and shook his head.

Reese had never acted like that – she had always known exactly what was happening without asking anyone. She always had an answer. Maybe, maybe this place was different. Less scripted – more real. Or maybe it was all in his head.

"We can wait if you want." He offered emotionlessly. Perhaps Randle sold him to another scientist – or someone took him away. Clint wasn't sure anymore. Nothing felt right or real, everything was a question and Clint was numb.

"You can ask me anything." Natasha said after a few minutes ticked by. "We've known each other for a very long time."

Clint eyed her curiously, but his head got in the way of his heart searching for the truth. "You'll only lie." He told her and looked away from her and towards a blank wall. Just like the place he had been in before – this room had no windows. Maybe he was still there.

"I promise you I won't lie." Natasha almost pleaded, but before Clint could respond the door opened and Tony Stark returned with a four-eyed stranger. Unlike the other two Clint was fairly sure he'd never dreamed of the man with glasses. As far as Clint could recall they had never met.

The four of them stared at each other in silence for about ten minutes before Glasses shifted awkwardly and Clint spoke. "So, who are you supposed to be?"

The man with glasses gawked in reply but managed to recover a few seconds later. "I'm sorry, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, we – uh, were friends. You know, before – " He waved a hand and gestured over Clint's body. The man looked awkward and if Clint was reading him right – sad. "All this happened."

"A doctor?" Clint tensed and pushed his back flat against the headboard behind him. Doctors, in his experience, were bad news.

Dr. Banner took a step back after he saw Clint's reaction in an attempt to give him more space – it didn't really help. Clint still viewed him with distrust. Silently the doctor glanced at his companions with a lost expression. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He shook his head awkwardly and looked to his friends for help.

"Bruce, just tell us what you planed to say," Natasha offered the man a ghost of a smile. It seemed encouraging.

Clint watched the doctor nod hesitantly as he turned back to face him. "We took a scan of your head when we brought you here. We have old records of your brain before." He turned and moved to the wall and snapped two dark films on a backlit board.

"That's my brain?" Clint asked curiously, looking at the black and gray image of skull and tissue. It was fascinating – it also could be someone else.

"Yes." The doctor nodded and pointed to the first image. "This one was taken a month ago to clear you for field work after you recovered from a concussion, it shows no damage – it's how your brain is supposed to look."

Clint looked at the scan, but honestly had no idea how a brain should or should not look like. "O-kay." He drew out the word to make it clear that he didn't really understand, but he was humoring them.

"Right, this means nothing to you." Bruce sighed, but pointed to the second scan. "Anyway, the point is this spot here in the second scan is glowing – see?" The doctor pointed with a pen to a specific area that was lighter on one side than the other. "We believe, with the information that we have, that whatever Dr. Randle did to you 'woke up' this dormant part of your brain."

"It was," Clint started, but closed his mouth with a sharp click of his teeth. They watched him as he stared at the scan and collected his thoughts. "They told me I'd been in an accident. An explosion at the research place I worked at. I was exposed to some chemicals that altered my brain." He nodded. "If that's real – "

"It is." Mr. Stark interrupted.

Clint ignored him. "Then, well, I have no idea what the hell is going on anymore." His voice grew dark as he looked slowly at each of them. "All I know is I woke up there an empty slate. Last I remember is a guy threatening to make my life hell after I killed a woman who was trying to help me. Now I'm here and you guys are telling me something different."

"But you remembered us," Tony Stark interrupted – frustrated.

"Nothing is right. Nothing I've remembered or felt or done is right." Clint couldn't explain – they couldn't know how it felt. "I'm so confused." He admitted and dropped his head again. "They convinced me they were telling me the truth – but it hurt so bad. And then I missed. And now Reese is dead and this is all some sort of twisted test." He looked at Stark and sighed. "I'm probably on some weird drug – or dreaming. I don't know – but this isn't right. This isn't real."

"Clint, what can we do to prove to you that we're different – separate from them?" Dr. Banner asked softly. It sounded so much like he cared – but Clint had thought Reese had cared. Had she? Did he?

"I want to go outside." Clint said suddenly. It wouldn't really prove anything, but Clint had never seen the sky in person, just in his mind. Maybe if he could see it and it was the same as his dreams – maybe it would prove that his whole existence wasn't a big lie.

"Done." Tony nodded and glanced at Bruce who nodded.

Clint felt like he'd been slapped in the face – he hadn't expected to get his request. He had expected another excuse. 'You're still healing,' or 'you can't be around people just yet' – something along those lines. To top it off there was no pain, there hadn't been pain since he'd woken up in this place. At least not his 'lie detector' pain – he was plenty sore from Randle's beating.

Why? What was happening?

"Really?" Clint breathed, he was unsure about the whole situation but suddenly wanted to risk hope.

"It's a simple enough request," the billionaire said softly. "We could do more, just ask."

"You have a choice," Natasha chimed in carefully with compassion filled eyes. "The roof is closer, but if you want we can take you down to the ground floor if you'd like."

"Ground floor? Where are we?" Clint asked curiously. He had been so sure that they were keeping him underground.

Stark and the doctor exchanged looks before their eyes turned back to Clint. "We're at the tower." Tony Stark answered as Banner shifted nervously.

Clint looked back at them with a blank expression. "What tower?"

The three looked heartbroken at his question and it took a minute before they recovered. "The Avengers Tower," Stark answered again for the others. "We all live here. We're Avengers. You're one too."

A flash of a memory, an image from his dreams popped into his head as Stark spoke. Him standing on a roof with a bow in his hand and a quiver strapped to his back – the wind rushing around him.

Clint sighed and looked up at them in despair. "I want to believe you." He really did. When he thought that he was some kind of hero it felt right, but it was a lie. Reese and Randle proved it all to be a lie.

"Then believe us." Tony told him with a smile. "Let us take care of you for now. We'll help you remember and things will go back to normal."

That caught Clint's attention – Reese and Randle had been adamant that he would never remember his past again. They hadn't tried to help and they had discouraged believing in his dreams.

Clint wanted to believe Mr. Stark and his apparent teammates, but it was so hard to believe anything anymore.

"The roof," Clint whispered after a pause. He wasn't ready to willingly give in to anything – not yet. He couldn't allow himself to relax completely – there was too much unknown and uncertain.

"Okay." Tony nodded. They backed off to give Clint space as he got off the bed. He was grateful that they didn't crowd him – that they went out of their way to make him comfortable. It was so different than being with Reese and Randle – better, he decided, even if it was short lived.

The way to the roof was interesting for Clint. His eyes took in everything as they walked the halls. This place was lavishly decorated and open spaced. It was lived in and comfortable – not sterile and cold like the place he'd been before. Clint was realizing that there was more truth to be found here with these Avengers – more than he had ever found with Reese and Randle.

"Oh, Clint." Dr. Banner's voice made Clint jump slightly and turn to look at the man as they walked. Natasha and Bruce walked behind while Tony Stark led the way to the roof.

"Yes?" Clint tried to hide the pink flush that washed over his face. He had jumped at a simple voice and Dr. Banner was a soft-spoken man – not exactly a frightening monster.

"We also drew blood," Dr. Banner continued carefully. "You were given some heavy drugs – "

"You said you wanted to help me," Clint interrupted quickly as he stopped and turned to face the older man. "That you would give me anything I asked for? Well I don't want any more drugs. I don't care what they do or what they are for."

The doctor nodded slowly. "That's fine, we won't force you to do anything. I promise."

Clint nodded silently although he noted that Banner was hesitating again. "But?" Clint pushed. So far this reality had proven to be a complete contrast to the one he'd first woken up in – this might be the moment he was proven wrong. Randle had forced the drugs onto him with threats – would Banner do something similar?

"I'm just worried about the withdrawals, but we'll help you through this – however you want to go about it." Banner vowed with a shaky smile. Clint sensed it was worry and concern – but he wasn't completely sure what the man was worried about. Maybe that Clint wasn't cooperating or maybe he was truly concerned for Clint's wellbeing. Whatever the case Clint refused to take any drugs.

They started to walk again and ended up in an elevator. Clint knew what it was and what it did but had never been in one before. Reese and Randle had used the stairwells to take him to the room where he had tried his hand with a bow – and failed miserably. He stood inside the lift and glanced around after the doors slid closed wearily. Clint jumped when the cart started to rise with a light pull.

"That's normal." Natasha offered as the boys stared in surprise at Clint's slightly panicked reaction.

"Sorry, I've just – never done this before." He tried to explain. They gave him pained expressions of worry in return, which only made his heart twist. "I mean – not that I remember." He shrugged and pointedly looked away.

The cart slowed to a stop and a bell dinged as the silver doors slid open.

"It's just up a few steps now." Tony directed, motioning Clint to go up the short flight of stairs first.

Clint hesitated and glanced up the stairs before he looked back at the Avengers. He saw that Natasha's face was carefully blank even though her eyes gave away her concern and hope. He saw that Tony Stark was filled with barely contained energy and a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Dr. Banner shifted awkwardly and looked worried and lost. There was no pity and Clint was grateful for that. They looked like friends.

With a slow nod Clint moved up the stairs, but stopped at the top just outside the door. With a deep breath Clint glanced back at the others who nodded their encouragement and Clint opened the door.

He had to squint his eyes as the sunlight hit his sensitive retinas. It took Clint a few tries to be able to open his eyes but when he finally could he gasped.

The others stayed back and for that Clint was grateful as he moved forward and further onto the roof. The sun was low in the brightly colored sky. The clouds were white but painted with purples, pinks and oranges. It was breathtaking.

Clint felt like crying when he felt the wind on his face for the first time. Natural wind created by something other than a passing person. This was real. This was life outside of a cage.

A rebellious tear escaped the corner of Clint's watchful eyes – it slipped down the side of his pale face as he watched the sun set in silence. For a moment he forgot the others were there with him and that his nightmare was far from over. For the moment Clint allowed himself time to breathe and hope that things would be okay now. Carefully he turned back and looked at the faces staring back at him and nodded.

Maybe he could do this. Maybe this was real.

And then again, maybe it wasn't.


End file.
